


The Thief and the Witcher

by boiblunder



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cops and Robbers vibes, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25408159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boiblunder/pseuds/boiblunder
Summary: Y/N is an ambitous thief, galavanting the Continent, trying to pickpocket enough for herself and her family, however she keeps running into a particularly stubborn and self-righteous Witcher. Is this a case of bad luck or fate intervening?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Vilgefortz of Roggeveen/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 165





	1. Burdoff

**Author's Note:**

> Italics = inner thoughts. Also his is my first fic is many years, be easy on me! Please leave a comment and thanks for reading!

The tavern was full and lively tonight, the simple wooden and stone building filled with ballads and hearty jigs, the patrons swaying as they walked or stuck in their seats from drunkenness, chuckling loudly amongst each other; which meant good news for you, the merrier they were, the more coins you could idly slip from their pockets. 

You sat at the dark mahogany bar with your confidant Romy, her eyes casually searching each individual in the tavern. This was your usual gambit, both you and Romy would get “drunk” at the tavern and so happen to innocently fall onto or stumble into a gentleman, meanwhile the other pinched his coins, each night taking turns, trying new tactics to distract and evade. Some were more annoyed at the spilled ale, but most times men were too pleased to have a beautiful woman like Romy ‘bump’ into them. She had warm blonde hair that cascaded down her back and inviting rich brown eyes. She also bought her corsets a size small to really grab a man’s attention.

Despite playing the innocent girl who couldn’t stomach her whiskey, you had witnessed Romy outdrink half the men in the tavern. Yourself, on the other hand, are the light-fingered one. Whenever you pinched something, it was as if a small streak of lightning crackled down your back, and like a magpie, the shiny and expensive things in life always caught your eye. Romy was a skilled pickpocket as well, but not as skilled as you. It was you who always had to find the biggest coin pouch or the most sparkling necklace to steal or to try the more elaborate scheme. Tonight, Romy wore her navy blue skirt paired with her favourite light sky blue corset, edged with white stitching and laced with white silk, on top of her white shirt. She’s bonny and even a blind man would admit it. You always preferred simple colors, tonight sporting your black pair of trousers, your old pair of beat-up black leather boots, a white men's shirt with billowing sleeves, and simple black corset. Your brother often called you a poor impersonation of a pirate, but you can’t very well be swift-footed in a heavy skirt.

“Who looks good?” you questioned, keeping your back towards the main hall of the tavern.

“Hmmm,” Romy pondered “I’m not sure. Not a lot of them look worth it to me.”

You sighed. “Okay, lemme look.”

Without missing a beat, Romy turned in her stool to face the bar and you turned just the same, this time to face the room. “Another pint please Ruben,” Romy called down the bar.

You’re eyes gazed over the crowd, trying, hoping, to spot someone worth stealing from. You and Romy had had a slow couple of weeks and you’re itching for a big steal. In the corner of the room, a bard plucked merrily at his lute, spinning the tale of a butcher’s son and a fisherman’s daughter. He wore a bright blue tunic that matched his eyes, over a white shirt, and jigged along to the beat of his song.

“He’s cute,” Romy commented, blushing slightly. She had turned back to the crowd and was smiling at the bard.

“Hey!” You slapped her wrist playfully “We’re supposed to be working, you’re here to distract the men, not them distracting you.”

“Oh c’mon! It’s only a bit of fun.” she teased.

“I’m sure you’ll have more than your bit of fun” you retorted with a smile on your face.

You turned back to the room, eyeing the patrons carefully, but Romy seemed to be right, not a decent target in sight. Half of them you knew personally, farmers, blacksmiths, carpenters, seamstresses, and fishermen.

Before the war, a few good merchants would wander through Burdoff now and then, take you and Romy for simple small town maidens, and become easy pickings, but those sorts of men have now dwindled in number. And as much as you liked stealing, you could never bring yourself to steal from a farmer or fisherman, especially those you knew. And in your eyes, it was better to steal one big bag of coins, rather than skimming off of everyone, which makes you a much more obvious target.

As you continued to peer around the room, the tavern door swung open and stepped through a beast of a man, and the room fell quiet. Tall, impossibly broad, with shocking white hair and citrine yellow eyes. Once in the light you could get a better look at him. He was filthy, his black armour drenched in mud and blood, save for a shining medallion on his chest, etched with the symbol of a wolf. A scowl painted his angular face as his eyes searched the room. He settled on a gentleman sitting at a table on the left-hand side, the farmer Jacob. The white-haired man made his way over to Jacob, and only then did you notice the head of a kikimora, oozing thick black blood on the floor in his hand.

You whispered behind you to Ruben “Who is that?”

“A Witcher. Jacob and some of the other farmers hired him to get rid of a kikimora near their lands. Guess he got it done.”

You watched as Jacob and his compatriots handed the witcher a pint and a sack of coins, and it looked heavy. Suddenly the bard sprung into another song “Toss a coin to your Witcher, O valley of plenty, O valley of plenty Ooh Ohhh…” The tavern seemed to liven again and settle into its normal lightheartedness. The song soon ended and the Witcher joined the bard in the dark corner of the tavern and sank into his pint.

You shot a look at Romy.

“No.” she said flatly and turned back to the bar.

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“He’s a fucking witcher!”

“Exactly! He’s terrifying! No girls gonna jump on him unless she’s getting reimbursed. He’s gonna love the attention from ya.” Romy tried not to smile. “C’mon you gotta help me pull this off” you pleaded.

“Listen I am not getting beaten into a pulp by a witcher because you have to have to scratch that dirty itch of yours.”

“Hey!” You protested. “ O c’mon, it’ll be easy I promise. Pleeeeeaassse Rooomyyyy?”

“No! Apparently they have like, superhuman senses or something. You put a foot wrong and you’re blown. It’s not worth the risk.”

You slumped in your seat and groaned loudly “Gods you’re no fun sometimes.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Still no fun.” You resigned yourself to just drinking, but that ‘dirty itch’ as Romy called it wouldn’t go away. The night carried on but you just sulked, displeased that you’ll probably go another week without a decent lift.

Suddenly Romy turned to you, “Will you stop?!”

Only then had you realised you’d been shaking your knee up and down since she turned down your plan. You turned restlessly in your stool, facing the crowd again, and you found yourself unable to keep your eyes off the witcher, but more specifically, the medallion around his neck. He got up and began making his way towards the stairs, up to the rooms. You looked at her and she knew instantly what you were doing as you downed the rest of your drink.

“Don’t do it.”

“Another ale please Ruben.”

“(Y/N) I swear to gods”

“Back in a moment” You winked.

“If he kills you I’m not coming to your funeral.”

“If you’re not gonna be useful, at least be quiet.”

You got up from your stool and began making your way towards the witcher, making sure to stumble here and there, sloshing your ale out of its flagon. You kept your eyes on the back wall, as if making your way to someone at the back of the tavern. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him getting closer and closer and closer until as he tried to walk past you, you stumbled into his shoulder. He caught you almost instantly, your arms around his neck and damn if he wasn’t sturdy.

“Whoops!” you slurred. “So so-orrrrry!” He glared down at you. Gods if this man wasn’t the sourest looking grump you’d ever seen. You’ve seen widows with more cheer.

He pushed you off him and grunted before continuing to make his way upstairs. You continued towards the back of the bar towards the bard. You introduced yourself and he told you his name was Jaskier and humbly bowed his head.

“Listen my friend over there” you pointed back towards Romy, “thinks you’re quite the performer, and quite cute” you winked. You thought you could almost see him blush a little. You waved at Romy, beckoning her over. Even from here, you could see she wasn’t happy with your stunt, the steam rising from her hair, but she eventually obliged bringing her sweetest smile with her.

As she sat down she looked at you. _Did you get it?_ You saw here eyes imploring.

 _Of course._ You replied with a wink. Safely in your palm was the wolf medallion, and you felt that lightning run down your spine.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The night continued on, Jaskier was very preoccupied with flirting with Romy but overall very friendly. You managed to get the name of the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Jaskier spun a few tales, but you soon got bored as the third wheel and contented with tonight’s lift, you made your exeunt. 

You stepped out of the tavern and breathed in the cold night air. You noticed the first signs of snow falling, and began the walk home, enjoying the fresh air and snow dancing in the moonlight before it settled too heavily. You turned the corner to the main road, humming along to yourself and - SLAM-

Black gloved hands gripped your throat and you were pushed against the shadowy wall of the tavern. You tried to yell but the wind had been knocked out of you. You looked up at your assailant only to see the witcher, snarling down at you, menace in his eyes. You were of modest height but this beast was towering over you, no way you could squirm out and escape his vice-like grip. _Shit._

“Sir, please….” you whimpered girlishly, pushing tears from your eyes

“Don’t play dumb thief” he growled, emphasising each word. His voice was deep and he was so close you could practically feel his chest vibrating as he spoke. “Where is it?!”

“Where’s what? Please I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“I said” he squeezed your throat tighter “Don’t play dumb. Where is my medallion?!” He slammed you back against the wall. You soon realised you couldn’t talk your way out of this one.

“Okay, okay.” You sighed and stopped your waterworks. “If I give it back will you let me go?”  
His only reply was a soft grunt which you decided to take as a ‘yes’. You pulled the medallion from your pouch and held it up towards him, the moonlight catching its edge. As he took from your hand, his grip on your throat loosened and he stepped back, you could finally catch your breath again. But you didn’t hang around long, instead quickly running back home, out of harm’s way.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Geralt returned to the tavern, still furious, the smell of the thief still under his nose, sandalwood, lemon and leather. He barreled back into the tavern, eager to get some sleep. He’d been on the road a while, and though sleeping rough never really bothered him, that kikimora did put up a severe fight.

The barman piped up as Geralt strode past “Uh hi there sir?” he asked nervously and Geralt shot him a glare, it was clear to everyone else that Geralt was not in the talking mood. “Uh, sir your, um, friend has had a fair few but he said you would, um, cover it?”

Geralt turned to see Jaskier and a blonde entangled in the corner where he left him, their lips not leaving each other. Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped towards the barman to pay what Jaskier owed, silently promising himself he’d leave early before Jaskier awoke in the morning, damned bard caused more trouble than he’s worth. Geralt went to reach for his pouch, but it wasn’t there. He checked the other pocket, inside his armour, even upstairs in his room, but it wasn’t anywhere. _The thief._ When Geralt got his medallion from her, she must’ve taken it then.  
“Who was that girl here at the bar?!” He demanded.

“Whi-which girl?” Ruben stuttered in fear.

“The one sat with that blonde” he gestured towards Jaskier.

“Oh that’s (Y/N)”

“Just use what coins I paid for the room to cover this fools”

“But that’s not..” Ruben began but quickly stopped when Geralt glared at him with his intense yellow eyes.

Satisfied with his answer, Geralt left the tavern, collected Roach from the stables and followed his nose in the direction she ran. He followed until he came to a small stream, and her smell evaporated. He could see no tracks in sight. Best with tiredness this whole day, he found a clearing in the forest to sleep under. If he ever saw (Y/N) again, he wouldn’t be so merciful.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

You made it home from the tavern, even double backed and walked through the stream as to not be tracked, to make sure the Witcher didn’t follow you.

You approached your small cottage, no light in the window.

Good. They’re both asleep.

As you sneaked closer to the door a voice came from the darkness

“You’ve been out very late.”

Your brother Mattias came from around the corner of the cottage and lit his pipe. You slapped him on the arm.

“You scared the shit out of me! Don’t you know not to sneak up on young ladies like that”

“Next time I see a lady I’ll be sure to do that” he smirked.

“Gis’ a bit” you signaled to his pipe. It was your fathers, carved on its side a snake you did when you were six. He passed it to you and as you breathed in and out, the smell of the tobacco brought you images of your father, watching the sunset at the end of a long day.

“Get lucky tonight?” Mattias asked. You threw the bag of coins, even he looked impressed.

“We can get Madi some medicine now.” you passed the pipe back to him. Your younger sister Madisson, aged 14 had fallen quite ill with fever. And the small plot of land and few chickens kept you and your siblings from growing hungry but didn’t provide much income. Mattias didn’t approve of your habit, but her fever only got worse.

“Who’d you get it from?”

“A witcher.” You said proudly.

Mattias’ eyes glared at you. He pushed the pouch back into your hands. “Give it back.”

“What? No. We need it.”

He raised his voice, “I’ve been speaking with Jacob about that kikimora and that witcher did him and this town a service. You return his money. Now.”

“Matt we need it for medicine! And besides, there’s always more monsters to kill, we have no idea when were are going to get out next windfall.”

“We’ll get it honestly! We’ll…sell some of the land”

“And how long is that gonna take? Bartering with Jacob or Gil?” You argued, “How long do you think Madi has huh?”

“I have put up with your thieving for-”

“Put up with? Madi would still be in those rags if not for my thieving”

“Enough!” you both turned to see Madi, standing in the doorway in her shift and blanket. She was still pale, sweat glistening, highlighting her sunken features. When she frowned like this she looked so much like your mother.

You rushed to her, pulling the blanket tighter around her, “Madi you shouldn’t be out in this cold go back inside.”

“Well, I can’t sleep much with you two arguing now can I?”

“I’m sorry,” Mattias says.

“Me too. We’ll keep it down. Go back to bed, pet.” She turned and went inside.

You took the pouch from Mattias “how much is the medicine we need?”

“10 orens” he replied, a puzzled look on his face.

You took 10 orens from the bag, handed it to him, and left the rest. “You can buy the next one” you smiled at him, and made your way back towards the tavern.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Geralt awoke in the forest just before sunrise, the sound of singing wandering towards him. Jaskier plonked himself down next to the ashes of last night’s fire,“Oh she was a dear, that sweet Romy, I am forlorn to be leaving such a shapely ass. She did this thing with her fingers where sh-”

“Jaskier! Shut. Up” Geralt got up and began angrily packing away his things and getting Roach ready to ride.

“Gods you are more sour than usual.”

“Well while you were sucking on that girl’s face I had all my coin stolen by a rotten thief and had to sleep here!”

Suddenly a thought went off in Jaskier's head. “You mean this coin?” Jaskier shook a bag of coins. Geralt instantly grabbed it from his hands and could tell it was short of a few coins.

“Hey!” Jaskier protested

“How did you get it?”

“I woke up with it next to my bed. Didn’t know it was yours just thought I got lucky. Oh well, I saw we use it for our next bawdy night eh?” he sighed.

As Geralt poured the coins out to count, a note fell out with them. In messy handwriting read: Nothing Personal :)

The note had the same smell, leather and lemon.

_The thief returned it? Why? Why then take it in the first place?_

“Well,” Jaskier asked, “Where to next?”


	2. Tretogor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the princes birthday ball goes on downstairs, (Y/N) steals jewellery from the empty bedchambers. But when her escape is foiled, she much makes a daring escape, but will the Witcher get in her way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is set about 6 months after the first one. Italics = inner thoughts.

The third story open window was in sight as you sneak through the elaborate castle stables. A particularly startled mare whinnies loudly at your presence, but you soon quell her noise with an apple and a pet on her nose. It always helps to be prepared.

Tonight is the Redanian prince’s 16th birthday, and all manner of fine dignitaries are present. While the extra manpower stationed around the castle would put off the average pickpocket and cat burglar, but you were a true scoundrel, taking the opportunity of a lot of empty bedchambers, filled with … well filled with something expensive, you hoped.

You peaked out of the stable door and looked across the small courtyard at the open window waiting above you. As you began to take the first step into the open, the clanking of armour and the grumblings of working a long night started to emerge from around the side of stables, and instinctively duck behind the stable doors as two guards pass, making their rounds. As they pass, you pull your back scarf over your face and pull out your grappling hook and rope.

_Now let’s have some real fun._

15 steps to the castle wall, a few expert flicks of your wrist and the grappling hook is soaring, soaring, coming back down and hooked in the open window. You hook the rope around yourself and begin your ascent, feet planted firmly against the castle wall. Within a minute you’re inside. You really should have a nickname by now for all the great heists you accomplished, you thought to yourself. 

_The Great (Y/N). No, the Amazing (Y/N). Amazing is always better than great._

Thankfully it is a clear night, the moonlight pours through the window, illuminating some of the dark bedchambers you find yourself in. A double redwood bed with ornate cream cloth dripping over the mattress, matching cream silk curtains pulled back from the posts; next to it, a dressing table with vials of oils, containers of rogue, and compacts of white powder organised perfectly in front of an oval mirror. You catch a glimpse of yourself in it, the top of your hair tied back away from your face, the rest of it sticking out in its usual unruly manner. When on a job, you always wear all black, the shirt, corset, trousers, a face cover keep you well hidden, and soft-soled pumps keep your footsteps quiet, like a cat’s. Wrapped around your waist is your tool belt, all the lockpicks you can carry and empty pouches for your ‘findings’. 

Next to the assortment of oils and creams is a mirrored case with golden filigree creating intricate swirls and patterns on the top and sides. Amongst the golden swirls are rabbits, equally as brilliant, hopping near a golden river through a golden hill. The jewellery box is stunning, and its contents are no exception. Inside are a string of long pearls, a ruby necklace set in a black metal, earrings from simplistic small studs to large and ornate heavy things, rings of every size and metal, each catching the light of the moon and dazzling your eyes. You start stuffing your pouches when you hear footsteps and loud shrill voices heading towards the door. 

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit!_

You close the box, grab your hook from the window, pulling up as much rope as can. The voice is so close now you can hear it “.. I mean It’s just not fair Cepha!” You dive under the bed as the door opens, still pulling in the rope till the last second. You stay as silent as you can. You see two sets of feet, one stomping dramatically, the other shuffling behind quietly.

“I can’t believe my brother is betrothed to that little bitch! She spilt that on me on purpose!” the stompy feet shouts.

“She’s young, Princess.” the shuffling one says, moving around the room, lighting candles. You can assume this is the princess and her maid. “You are the eldest child. Your parents are expecting you to behave like it.” From the maid’s voice, you picture a kindly face that can turn stern in a flash when children are found misbehaving. 

The stompy-feet lets out a self-righteous sigh and slumps in front of her dressing table. “Yes, I suppose I am the adult out of the two of us.” You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Now help me out of this dress Cepha,” she demands.

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

The next fifteen minutes? twenty minutes? pass in agonising silence for you as the princess gets undressed and re-dressed. You thought Romy took long to get ready but this was extravagant. Eventually, they leave, you give yourself a few moments before re-emerging from under the bed, to be sure they left. Now in a better light, you can see more of the room, the dress the princess once wore is now placed over a chaise lounge which sits behind a screen, both near a large ornate wardrobe and a full-length mirror. On a table at the far wall, is a selection of masks, one missing from the row. It’s a masquerade party taking place in the hall downstairs.

You quickly head back to the jewellery box, filling your pouches. You make your way back to the window and peer out to find the two guards sitting down in the courtyard, right in front of the stables, chatting away. There’s no way you can climb down without being seen. 

_Bollocks._

You begin pacing back and forth, devising your escape. 

_Think. How am I going to get out? I can’t wait for them to move, they could be sitting there for ages. I can wait here? Staying under the bed in case the princess returns? But I’ll have to either sneak out in the middle of the night and risk waking her up and still have to evade the guards anyway. Shit. Wait till morning? Yes, because I’ll really be well-hidden with the sun bearing down on me. Fantastic. Great idea (Y/N). I’m doomed to get caught._

You sigh from the hopelessness of this situation. You sit on the chaise lounge and hold your head in your hands. 

_No longer the Amazing (Y/N). So long to becoming the greatest thief to grace the Continent._

You rub your face in despair and look to see the dress haphazardly left, and an idea strikes you. 

_Why not waltz out the front door?_

You open the wardrobe to find a myriad of dresses, some more casual and some ridiculously ostentatious, but one gown catches your eye. At first, the gown looks black, but upon closer inspection, you see that it is very very dark blue and shimmers an iridescent light green and purple when you move it in the candlelight. The bodice is cut fairly lowly in a balcony shape, with large billowing sleeves that pull in tight a few inches above the wrist and are adorned with pearl buttons that match the ones going all the way down the centre of the dress. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You undress your top half, tying your shirt around your waist. You put on the underskirt and peplums over your trousers, stuffing your shirt and corset in one of your many pouches, hiding the toolbelt and stolen goods under the peplums. You put the dress on and it fits like an old glove. You even steal a pair of evening shoes, an ostrich feather slipper in a matching navy. You pull out the string of pearls from your pouch that match the buttons and lace them around your neck a few times so that they rest above your neckline. You tie up your hair the best you can and take a final look in the mirror. 

You almost don’t recognise the woman staring back at. You see your (y/e/c) eyes and your (y/h/c) hair, but everything else is… different. Not in a bad way, you’ve just never worn anything close to this expensive. You take a deep breath and enjoy this moment. If your mother could see you looking like such a lady she’d shed a tear. Finally, you place your chosen mask over your face, again not too outrageous, one with white and dark iridescent feathers that match the dress.

You open the door and make your way to the ballroom. 

* * *

Geralt watched the room; dancers forming lines, stepping back and forth to one another, swirling in helixes across the floor, people sitting and chatting as they drink and eat, it is a hearty and lively event. He sits adjacent to the King’s table, a guest of honour, though he could think of nothing worse. He may be forced to attend this event, but will definitely not be dancing or getting into costume. The prince dances with his betrothed, perfecting every step as his father and mother watch intensely. The princess storms down the stairs in a different dress and sits next to them, arms crossed and pouting like fish. (He saw the altercation take place, she definitely spilt it on purpose.)

“Geralt! Geralt help!” Jaskier calls to him, joining him at the table. “Ogred Of Cremora thinks I slept with his wife”

“Did you?”

“Well… well that’s not really the point okay, the point is he thinks it is me!”

“Jask-”

“Shitshitshit here he comes, help me!”

Geralt looked up to see a grim-looking man, stuffed into his tunic and scowl clouding his face. “Do I know you from somewhere?” he points a thick and heavily ringed finger at Jaskier.

“I-uh-um I- I don’t think so sir, I mean, er- Milord.”

“No, I’m sure. I’m positive I saw you naked, fleeing my house!” he accuses angrily and makes a start for Jaskier. 

Geralt thankfully steps in, smelling the alcoholic stench clinging to his person, “You must be mistaken sir. This here bard was hit in the… the..” he gestures awkwardly to Jaskiers crotch area “….by a horse as a child.”

Ogred looks disappointed he didn’t get to beat someone up tonight.“My apologies eunuch.” and idly wanders back to his table, muttering to himself.

Jaskier lets out a relieved sigh, “Thank you Geralt. Though I’d prefer you’d not let that eunuch thing get around..ya know, might hurt my chances with the fairer sex.”

“You should worry about your chances of surviving tonight,” Geralt warned, already bored with the bard’s antics, and turned back to his ale which was far too low to be dealing with Jaskier. 

Geralt spends the next 30 minutes or so, fending off a few more disgruntled cuckolds on Jaskiers behalf, each time sinking into more pints of ale. He wasn’t completely drunk, he was a witcher after all, his enhanced metabolism helped him in a fight, but also meant he would need to drink a lot to get as drunk as the lords and ladies at this ball. 

As he sat idly, a scent hit his nose, it was faint, hard to make out through the aromas of the feast: a roasted whole pig with apples and honey, beef stew, potato pancakes, fresh rye loaves, lavender and honey sweetbreads, along with ales, meads and wines. The smell of the partygoers also clouded his senses, expensive perfumes blended with sweat as the dancers circled the ballroom floor. However, he knew this mystery scent was sandalwood, lemon and leather. But where was it coming from?

* * *

You entered the ballroom, and you’d never seen anything like it. Tall marble columns framed the room, with large dining tables between them lining the parquet ballroom floor. Banners decorated the stone walls, and huge chandeliers and sconces lit up the hall in a warm haze. 

At the top of the room was the King’s table, adorned with expensive dyed silk and enough food and drink to feed your village for a week.

_Greedy royals. As always._

On the ballroom floor, lords and ladies, dignitaries and nobles swirled and spun effortlessly. At the tables sat even more nobles, laughing heartily and telling tall tales, some men trying to outdo each other with their exaggerated feats of heroism. You descend into the mass of people, doing your best to appear high born, head held high. shoulders back, hands clasped in front of your abdomen. You were careful to walk as smoothly as possible, determined not to let the stolen jewellery under the skirt make too much noise, but with the reverie and music filling this grand hall, you felt safe.

“Cintran wine ma’am?” A well-dressed servant stood before you goblets of wine on a wooden tray. 

“Why yes, thank you.” The wine was rich yet sweet, and frankly, the best thing you’ve ever tasted. 

_I could get used to this._

You wandered around the dancers, looking towards the ceiling high double doors at the other end of the hall, that must be the exit. As casually as you could, you made her way to the door, however, the music changed from a jig to waltz.

“May I have this dance ma’am?” 

_Shitshitshitshitshitshit._

You turned to see a middle-aged man, well-groomed with an elaborate mask over his eyes, and from what you could see through it, not completely ugly for his age. 

_He must be a noble of some kind. No choice but to play along._

Setting your goblet down, you curtsied gracefully before he took hold of your waist and your right hand for the waltz. 

“I must confess dear sir, I am not the best dancer.”

“Not to worry, I’ve had plenty of practice,” he replied smugly.

_He really must be a noble if he is this arrogant._

He whisked you across the floor, holding a bit too tightly for your liking.

“I must ask who’s company I am currently enjoying,” he said.

“Doesn’t that ruin the point?” You replied coolly.

“The point?”

“What’s the point in a masquerade if I tell you who I am? Wouldn’t that ruin all the fun?” You said, a seductive smile on your face taking a page out of Romy’s playbook, men won’t see much if you flirt with them. 

“You really won’t tell me your name, mistress?”

“Well, I’m sure-”

The nobleman stopped as another man tapped him on the shoulder. “Might I interrupt and ask this lady for a dance?” He was tall, impossibly broad with silver hair, and yellow eyes.

_Oh fuck._

The witcher stared down at the nobleman so fiercely you could see sweat forming on his brow. Before he could even answer properly, the witcher had moved in, placing his hand in yours, the left he placed firmly on the small of your back and began to dance. 

_Maybe he hasn’t recognised me under the mask._

“You don’t seem very happy to see me, thief,” he said.

_Oh no, he definitely knows._

“Well the last time I saw you, you nearly strangled me.” You snapped. 

_This is very not good, he could turn me in at any moment._

“You took my medallion.” he snarled.

“What can I say? It would’ve looked better on me,” you smirked. Geralt chuckled dryly and led her closer to the centre of the ballroom, the exit getting further and further away as they danced.

“You also took my coin.” 

“Well if you’d’ve let me have the medallion, I wouldn’t’ve touched your coin.”

The witcher only huffed in disbelief as a response. “Where’s your friend? The blonde?” he asked.

“Flying solo on this one. She’s not much of a social climber.”

“I doubt that, I think she’s just not as greedy as you. Must be some very nice pockets to pick here.”

“How do you know I’m even here for such things?” You barked. “Maybe I was invited.”

The witcher laughed sarcastically. “I’m sure a peasant thief from Burdoff is first on the list to an event at the palace, even if she is dressed as if she was. I’m sure the mask is a big help. What are you dressed as? A magpie? How appropriate.”

“Just because you didn’t put a mask on tonight doesn’t mean you’re not wearing one dear Witcher. Who are you pretending to be? The stoic monster hunter?” You retorted, staring straight into his amber eyes. As much as he aggravated you, you found yourself unable to look away from his face. So serious, full of hard edges made up of sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline and a cleft chin. You were suddenly aware of how close you were to him, his large hands spanning your lower back. He held you firmly, to keep you from running you assured yourself. 

“I’m not pretending to be anyone,” he replies. “I slay the monsters. I get paid. That’s all.”

“Oh, sure! Supping with royalty as well as your hefty bag of coins is a really humble payment.”

“I- I was invited here. Though I’d rather be anywhere else.”

“See? You’re putting on a face to appease the ego of the king. Pretending you enjoy this kinda thing.”

“At least I earn money honourably.” he snapped back.

“Don’t condescend, dear witcher. You don’t know a thing about me.” 

“Let me guess, you had a sad childhood.”

You scoffed, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“So you started stealing to survive.”

“There’s no shame in that.”

Geralt leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath as he whispered in your ear, “So the jewels I can hear bouncing under your skirt are for survival, not because you like shiny things, little magpie?”

_How the fuck did he hear that?_

“I take what I need to from those who have more than enough. I don’t stand on the shoulders of people with less,” you said defensively.

“No such thing as honour among thieves.”

“I didn’t take all your coin did I?”

“Well since you are so accomplished, why not start anew?”

You let out a genuine chuckle. “There’s no fresh start in today’s world. Scars don’t fade, witcher. You should know that better than most. Once you’ve done what you had to they’ll never let you do what you want to.”

“You think that justifies stealing?”

“You kill terrible beasties with your magik abilities, saving the innocent townsfolk, do you not?”

“…Where are you going with this?” Geralt asked suspiciously. 

“Does that justify what was done to you at Kaer Morhen?” you asked, staring straight at him. You didn’t know the full details of how witchers were made, but what you had heard left you feeling chilly.

A pained expression plagued across his face for a moment as his mask dropped and you saw a different person. His normally stern and serious expression had faded to something softer, but sadder at the same time. He paused, looking down, deep in thought. 

“Hmm,” was all he said.

Over the witcher’s expansive shoulder you could see the nobleman standing near his table, his eyes ardently following you and Geralt as you circled the floor.

“Yes.” he finally answers. “I kill evil. I think you’re being unrealistic about what the so-called ‘good’ thieves can do.”

“Maybe you’re being unrealistic about what you swing about other than your sword.” you bit back at him.

“Ouch.” Geralt said sardonically, a wry smile on his lips.

_Why the fuck is he smiling?_

“You know I can’t let you leave without giving me what’s under your skirt.”

 _Idiot._ You saw your opportunity at the Witcher’s faux pas and took it.

“How dare you!! Asking for what’s under a lady’s skirt! How vulgar!” You said loudly, so loudly in fact that others had stopped dancing to watch the commotion. You raised your hand to slap him but the Witcher caught your wrist and pulled you in close, enraged with a snarl on his lips and his brows furrowed.

“Don’t even think about it, thief,” he whispered angrily.

“Ow!” This brute will not release me!” You cried even louder, garnering even more attention.

The nobleman was swiftly at your side, his hand on the hilt of his sword “I suggest you let go Witcher.” he unsheathed his sword, placing it at the witcher’s throat. “Before you are swiftly dispatched.” he threatened. 

Geralt turned to see the king himself watching the commotion; he glared into your eyes, looking as if he was about to erupt. You raised an eyebrow at him. 

_Checkmate._

Geralt let go of your wrist and you dramatically fell to the floor, just to add a bit more drama. Geralt never let his eyes off of you as the nobleman sheathed his sword and helped you up.

 _Is she crying?_ Geralt thought. _How did she make herself cry so easily?_

You clutched to the nobleman and wept into his shoulder, who escorted you off the ballroom floor. He sat you down and knelt in front of you, handing you your goblet of wine. She sipped generously.

“I’m so sorry,” you said wiping the crocodile tears from your cheek.

“Please milady, don’t apologise for your fright, must be quite terrifying for a lady to be held by such a degenerate. You were very brave.” 

_God this man is condescending._

“Really?” you asked with a pliant smile.

“Of course milady.”

You paused thoughtfully. “Would you mind if I went for some fresh air? I need to compose myself.”

“Of course milady I would happily escort you-

“-No! No need. I need to be alone for a moment.”

“Of course,” he bowed gracefully.

_Finally._

You made your way to the doors, and in the corner of your eye, you could see Geralt across the hall, following you. You increased your pace, but so did he, the exit was so close-

_Please, please let me through._

You got the guards at the door a fraction before the witcher did.

“Guards!” you ordered, “Keep this man away from me, he’s already accosted me tonight.”

“Yes, milady.” 

They let you through then crossed their spears as Geralt tried to follow. Geralt grabbed one by the back of his armour, pulling him 2 inches off the floor.

“Let. me. Pass.” he threatened. 

“Sir Witcher, we cannot, and you know we cannot.” the other said calmly.

“Please sir, we are thankful for you dispatching the night witches.” The dangling on said.

Geralt sighed and dropped him. As he looked out the ballroom doors, she, whoever she was, was already gone, into the night. The scent of lemon and sandalwood fading with each step and his chest ached as it diminished into the mist, but he didn’t know why. 


	3. Pont Avis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Y/N) returns home after her escapades to care for her sick sister, but is compelled to find her a cure after a run in with Jaskier and a few old memories of her father.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

Madisson’s fever only seemed to stagnant, and in recent weeks has worsened. You stayed by her bedside for weeks, watching your younger sister look paler and paler, shivering endlessly but scorching to the touch. The wise woman a few villages over did all she could, she tried to smile, to comfort you and your brother Matthias, promising that the fever will break soon, but you knew; you knew that this fever is going to claim her life. Tonight, she managed to fall asleep and get some rest, but you still felt compelled to stay by her side. A hand on your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts.

“Go. Get some sleep.” Matthias said wearily. 

“I’m fine.”

“I’m serious (Y/N). When was the last time you had more than two hours sleep?” To be fair to Matthias he had a point, you couldn’t actually remember the last time you slept a full night in the last few weeks. You couldn’t find sleep and when you did, nightmares of Madisson plagued your dreams. Still, you’d rather be tired and awake than tossing restlessly in your bed all night, unable to set aside the thoughts of Madisson; all the ‘what ifs’ swimming in your mind like sharks circling their prey. 

“Fine then. I’m going to the tavern,” you said grumpily. Matthias took your seat beside Madi as you put on your coat and boots. The silence in the room was heavy. 

“We need to find a medicine woman. A proper healer, not just some old bat who puts some bison grass in cows milk and calls it a miracle cure.” You said angrily as you tied your boot laces.

“Its too far sis, we don’t have a horse, gods we don’t even have a fucking donkey. I don’t want you walking somewhere weeks on end there and back, to come home and she’s-” he stopped and looked down at her. “She’s—” he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“So we just sit and do nothing? Wait for it to consume her?” 

“There’s nothing we can do.” Matthias said defeated.

“I don’t believe that. Father wouldn’t believe that.”

“Yeah well that’s all well and good but he’s dead isn’t he? Fighting for that stupid cause… he couldn’t ‘sit by’ and look what good it did him. Look what good it did us.” he snapped, signalling to Madisson. 

“Fine. Roll over like a coward. Give up on her. Let her die if doing something is such a big hassle,” You finished as you stormed out and headed for the tavern.

* * *

You sat in your usual stool at the bar, head in your arms watching the bubbles rise and pop in your flagon of ale, resigned to your fate. Romy was sitting with a group of young mercenaries, eager to show off their swords and unscathed armour, they were clearly green as grass when it came to battle, a few young men seeing opportunity to make some money fighting the Nilfgardians further south. Romy joined them to start your usual gambit, she thought getting you to pinch one of their pouches would cheer you up, but you weren’t even in the mood to pickpocket. And no matter how much you took tonight it wouldn’t help Madisson. 

“May I buy such a beautiful lady a drink?” you heard someone say next to you in a very singsong manner.  
  
“If I see one, I’ll let you know,” you said without even turning. You heard the clink of armour as the gentleman sat down, one of the mercenaries. 

“Two pints please sir,” he said to Reuben who promptly sat them down in front of you both, giving you a knowing look.

“Why is it such a fine creature as yourself is drinking alone?” The mercenary was a good-looking fellow though a slight toothsome and eager to show off in front of his comrades.

“You and your friends have kidnapped my company,” you said nodding your head to Romy who seemed enthralled in the conversation. 

“Well I do apologise for that, though I’m not too heartbroken about it, seeing as I get you too myself,” he chuckled loudly as if he’d said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

_My god this man is ridiculous._

You debated what to say that would get him to leave you alone, or maybe pouring his drink over his flaxen hair, or maybe pulling your knife out of your boot and slicing a piece of his ear off, but before you could do anything, someone else sat next to you on the other side.

“I do beg your pardon but the lady is spoken for,” Jaskier said confidently, seemingly appearing out of thin air. The mercenary’s face dropped. 

You quickly wrapped your arm around Jaskier, “Oh my sweet, how I’ve missed you so!” Jaskier leaned in for a kiss and you quickly turned your cheek to his lips. “Don’t push it,” you whispered. 

“Duly noted,” he whispered back. “Well?” he said to the mercenary. “Shoo,” Jaskier said with a flick of his wrist.

Now together alone, you smiled at him, it was a genuine pleasure to see the bard. “What is the great Dandelion doing all the way in nowhere Burdoff?” you enquired.

“Well I promised Romy a visit, but alas she has followed her heart to greener pastures. I fear I shall be brokenhearted forever,” he said clutching his chest dramatically.

“Well, here’s to drowning our sorrows,” you said as you clinked your flagons together.

“Here, here. You have many sorrows to drown then?

“There’s no flagon big enough, even if I had an ocean of ale,” you said grimly, finishing the rest of your pint and signalling Reuben for another.

“Why so sorrowful?”

“You don’t wanna hear my sad tales bard.”

“Then why did I ask?” he threw back at you, staring at you intently.

“Fine. My younger sister is dying. We didn’t have the money to fix it then and now her fever has worsened and we have no time to. Even if a mountain of gold plummeted into my lap, there is no one skilled and close enough to stop her sickness consuming her.” 

Jaskier fell silent, not knowing how to respond. “I’m sorry.” he says sheepishly.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault, is it? I mean I want to find someone, anyone, even if it’s too late, it’s better than sitting here. It’s what my old man would do.”

“Your father?”

You nodded. “He was always the first in the town to fight for someone, especially those that couldn’t fight for themselves. I remember once, we were out plowing, and man on a cart wheels by, we wave, say hello. Later, he shows up at our door, beaten and robbed having walked back 4 hours on a broken ankle. He practically collapses as he steps in. My father cared for him for 3 weeks, everyday he was fed and wounds cleaned, bandaged and stitched up. He just did it. The man offered to stay on after he was healed to work the land, to repay my father, but he refused. Said it was his way of putting good faith back into the world.”

“Doesn’t seem to be a lot of that anymore.” Jaskier said looking at the mercenaries.

You both sat in silence for what felt like forever, though it didn’t bother you. Jaskier is nice company. You wondered what your father would think of you now, stuck between peasant and thief.

Finally he spoke up, “You’re right.”

“Right about what?”

“We can’t just sit here.” 

“Why? Do you want to get up and dance?” you said sardonically.

“No- No, I mean we can’t do nothing about your sister. There’s a renowned sorceress in Pont Vanis. She is the most skilled healer, I’m sure she could help your sister.”

“Yeah great idea, but how am I to get there? Walk? That’ll take weeks.”

“If that’s what it takes,” Jaskier said determined, “I’ll admit I am not a good hunter or fisherman and I hate, I absolutely abhor walking at length but… but … but well we can’t sit with our thumbs up our arse!”

For the first time since you arrived home you felt hopeful. You looked into Jaskier’s eyes, looking for deceit or quiver of doubt, but you found none. To hells with your brother, you must do what you can to help. Sitting here only made you feel worse. You finished your drink and told Jaskier to wait at the tavern for you. You returned home to find Matthias asleep in his chair next to Madisson. He looked so much like your father it filled you with an abysmal feeling, something between melancholy and rage. You gathered your things and wrote them a note, leaving a kiss planted on Madisson’s forehead. 

I’ll be back soon, you promised. Hold on till then.

Matthias may never forgive you this. You prayed he would. 

You returned to the tavern to find Jacob outside with his horse, Heather. And strangely, Reuben and Jaskier were next to him.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

Jacob stepped forward holding out the reins. “Reuben told me about what you and the bard spoke about. I don’t have money or anything worldly, but Heather here is strong and trustworthy, she’ll get you to Pont Avis. Just look after her for me, okay?”

You began to protest, telling Jacob he needed his mare to work the farm and that they’ll be fine alone, but he put the reins in her hand. “It’s what your father would do.” You burst into tears when you hear that. “Just take her, and bring her back safe. Maybe bring me back something shiny,” he winked.

You threw your arms around Jacob, tears spilling down your face. You had no words, ‘thank you’ seemed too small. “I’ll get you a whole chest of gold,” you promised, and Jacob chuckled. 

You climbed onto Heather and pulled Jaskier up behind you, and set off into the night, to Pont Avis.

* * *

You had been travelling with Jaskier for a week or so now, and still so far from Kovir, let alone Pont Avis. You both sat on Heather, who was the most mild tempered horse you’d ever met, occasionally a bit jumpy, you’d actually grown quite fond of her. Jaskier sat with his back to yours as he strummed thoughtfully on his lute, humming a melody, his warm voice harmonising with the echoes of a stream and chirps and whistles of birdsong laden in the trees.

“One for sorrow, that’s all she brings / the little magpie, the little thief / Her eyes, her words, what what a delicious sting… hmmm… what a sweet sting?” he sighed frustrated, strumming back and forth“(Y/N) what sounds better? A sweet sting or a delicious sting?”

“What about….. Oh I don’t know, ‘heavenly’?” you threw back.

“Ah yes heavenly! Perfect!” he said frantically scribbling in his notebook, “One for sorrow, that’s all she brings / the little magpie, the little thief / Her eyes, her words, what a heavenly sting,”

“What you writing about anyway?” you asked.

“Oh just some woman,” he said cheekily. 

“I’m sure you have plenty of women to write about.” you joked “What’s so special about this one?”

“I saw Geralt dance with this woman at a ball we went to in Tretogor.”

You froze. _Does he know it was me? No he would’ve said something if he did, Jaskier is not such the dubious sort._

“He kept cursing under his breath the rest of the night. When I asked what caused such a temper he stormed off, the only thing I heard was ‘little magpie’. I can only assume it was the woman in the white and black feathered mask,”

_Quick, change the subject._

You chuckled, “He’s so rude and grumpy, how do you stand to be around him?”

“He has his good days.”

“Sure.” you huffed. It really didn’t make any sense to you, Jaskier was good-humoured and kind, occasionally a bit useless in the field, but no less better company than the Witcher. What did Jaskier see in him?

* * *

The next week or so passed quickly, though you were exhausted, often riding through the night, Jaskier asleep and drooling on your shoulder. Occasionally you’d stop in a town, grab some supplies, pinch a few pockets and sleep in a bed for the night, though you still were as restless as ever. 

Finally, you could see Pont Avis on the Kovir coast, a red brick city seemingly rising out of the water. As you approached the city you saw that it actually was on the water, a city full of canals and bridges, tightly packed and maze like, you were worried you’d never find your healer.

You put Heather in the stable on the outskirts of the city on the mainland, and entered the gates of Pont Avis with Jaskier. It was busy, people spilling in all directions in the narrow streets, people hanging out of windows, sitting on balconies trying to feel some kind of breeze in hot sun. It was amazing.

“Okay where can we find her?” you asked Jaskier.

“I dunno,” he shrugged.

“You don’t know?!” You grabbed him by his collar, “We’ve travelled weeks and you don’t know?! My sister could already be dead and you lead me on this fool’s errand?!”

“She’s definitely here in the city I promise! She often advises King Idi!” 

“You better find her before I smash that loot over your head.” You released him. “C’mon let’s ask around a tavern or something.”

After a day of asking the locals of Pont Avis, a smith’s son told you of the sorceress, Heria and where to find her. You wandered the city, occasionally getting lost through the endless winding alleys and small bridges, but you found her shop.

Inside there were herbs and jars full of oddities hanging from the oak rafters and a strong smell of lavender and rubbing alcohol. On the shelves were vials and bottles all with various liquids within them, one shelf was deep and filled with herbs, each with their own cubby holes, you’d never seen a healer’s stocks so vast before. 

Before long a woman stepped out from behind the back door, she was a short, middle-aged looking woman, with long, wavy, brown hair tied in various braids, and brown eyes, she smelled somewhat of incense. Despite her age, her skin was clear and illuminated, she must be older than she looks. 

You told her of your sister, her prolonged fever, cold sweats and inability to keep most of her food down, the paleness of her skin, now hollowed with hunger. Heria was sympathetic, she warned the remedy would not be cheap for such an illness, and it still might be too late. She told you that the remedy would be ready tomorrow, first thing in the morning. As you and Jaskier left, Heria quickly set to work, putting water onto boil over her hearth and flitting about her shop grabbing numerous ingredients, crushing them in a pestle and mortar.

* * *

You and Jaskier found a tavern, The Dwarf’s Pickaxe. He earned a few coins performing for the crowd, but you could not enjoy any of his songs, you’re thoughts constantly on your sister. What must she think of you for leaving her? You thought of the long ride back home to Burdoff, of opening the door, and seeing her empty bed. You fought back the tears and went upstairs to your shared room, maybe sleep would wipe these thoughts away, but sleep couldn’t find you, you tossed and turned, images of Madisson’s dead body coming to you everytime you closed your eyes. 

After however long of lying awake, Jaskier came upstairs, tipsy but not completely drunk “Shit, sorry did I wake you?” he said bumping into the door loudly.

“No it’s fine, can’t sleep anyway,” you said rubbing your eyes tiredly.

“Well I can -help with that,” Jaskier sat on the adjacent bed, and started playing a lullaby on his lute, singing softly and sweetly. You pulled the covers up to your chin and watched Jaskier play.

_You walked towards your small cottage, Matthias is digging in the yard. He is sweating, no, he is crying. You try running to him, you can’t move. You try calling out to, but you can’t, you choke as you feel your tongue sliding back down your throat, you can’t breathe. You feel a hand on your shoulder, you turn to see Madisson, towering above you, white as snow, eyes as dark as a raven’s wing. Why did you leave? Where are you? You left! You left us to die! Her eyes start swelling with tears, they drop on your face, into your eyes, up your nose and down your throat, you are drowning in tears. You are beneath the earth, dirt and gravel swallowing up your eyes, the light fading till you are encased in the darkness._

You wake with a yelp, your face is wet from crying, Jaskier is shaking you awake. “Shh it’s okay, it’s okay you’re here with me. You were having a nightmare (Y/N), it’s okay.” 

“We need to get that medicine. Now.” you immediately sprung out of bed and got your things together to get to Heria’s. 

“Wait are you okay?”

“Jaskier, I’m fine.” You said sharply, trying to push the images away, “We need to get going.”

You practically ran to Heria’s, Jaskier struggling to keep up with you with his lute banging against his back. She opened up and handed you a vial with a white liquid inside, you handed her more coin than she asked for, seeing as you ‘gathered’ plenty on the journey here. You began to make your way back to stables to start heading back to Burdoff.

“Can we at least get some food for the journey? Or do you plan to ride all the way to Burdoff with no food?”

“Okay fineeeee,” you whined, “let’s find a market.”

* * *

You wandered the main market, the smells of fresh fish, cured meats, soaps and incenses and the salty air from the canals filled your senses. You and Jaskier bought enough dried meat and rations for 2 weeks (if Jaskier did pig out). 

As you were leaving the market you saw a woman, sitting against a building, on her knees, bent over, her hands clasped in prayer. In front of her a bowl with a few copper coins inside. She was a beggar. 

As you reached into your coin purse to offer her something, a young girl, around 14 or so, in very fine clothes walks past the woman, accompanied by a boy around the same age, and a guard walking a few paces behind them. The young girl is eating something from the market, you watch as she stops in front of the woman, takes another bite of her food, and spits it in her bowl, and the boy laughs. You cannot hear what she’s saying to her, all you can hear is the blood boiling in your ears.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) what are you doing?” Jaskier asks as he notices you are already storming towards the girl. 

“Don’t you think you oughta have a bit more respect for people?” you asked angrily. 

“Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to?” she retorted. 

“(Y/N) maybe we shouldn’t-“ Jaskier began before you interrupted him, yelling at the girl before you.

“Yeah, a spoilt little bitch who delights in tormenting those who already have enough to suffer for,” you bellowed as you slapped her food out of her hand onto the floor.

Suddenly, you were hit hard, the boy had slapped you. For such a little shit he had a good back hand, but it only enraged you more.

“I beg your pardon!” the boy says, “You are addressing Eda Of Narok and Vyscar Of Lan Exeter! I expect a dirty commoner such as yourself to know to only speak when spoken to! Guard! Get this urchin out of my sight.”

You felt the presence of the guard behind you, a coarse looking face glowered behind a worn helmet and plate armour, he placed his gauntleted hand on your shoulder.

“You better come with me, lest you want more trouble.” the guard said. 

Without a thought, you pull your shoulder away and swing back your elbow into the guards face, rattling his head around his helmet. You grab the boy by his tunic and punch him right in the face, causing him to fall onto the girl.

“Oh gods! My nose!” blood gushed down his fine tunic, mud from the streets staining their clothes.

Before you can get another hit in, the guard grabs you by the scruff of your collar. Something hard hits your head and the world goes black.

* * *

Your eyes flutter open to the sound of clanging metal and a pounding headache. Someone is talking but you cannot make out the words yet. As your eyes focus, the blurry greys and blacks solidify into a cold wet stone wall and floor and 3 sets of rusted iron bars in front and either side of you. You move to sit up, it hurts. They must’ve thrown in with some force. Now you clearly hear someone a few cells down, arguing with someone else, making proclamations of innocence. You immediately start shivering from the cold, the only heat source in the row of cells is a few candles on the walls across the cell doors. A guard is sitting in a chair telling the chatty cellmate to pipe down. It dawns on you that you don’t have any of your things.

_Shit. The medicine._

You lean back against the wall in despair. You had no idea where Jaskier was, how long you’d even been here, Madisson could be dead already and here you were, getting into brawls with a literal child. You sighed, and bite your tongue, trying not to cry. It was all for nothing, you thought. 

_Things really couldn’t get any worse._

You sit in the icy cell, shivering for what feels like hours, the chatty fellow had turned his attention to you, but you sat in silence, not even turning to look, you didn’t need anymore trouble. You close your eyes to try to drown his ramblings, when you hear numerous footsteps coming down the stairs and the clink of the bars opening, but it’s not yours. You turn to see a new cellmate being brought in. You start to laugh, uncontrollably as the White Wolf is put in a cell next to you, his eyes glaring at you with surprise and disdain.

_I guess things could get worse._


	4. Pont Avis - The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck next together in a freezing cell block in a depressing keep in Pont Avis, cam (Y/N) and Geralt escape before they face judgment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has more violence/injury in it that previous, main character/reader gets seriously injured, fair mention of blood as well.

Exhausted and bloody, Geralt sauntered up into King Idi’s throne room, one head of the amphisbaena in his firm grasp. The palace guards crossed their halberds in front of the throne room doors, asking Geralt what business he had with the king. He simple held up the bestial head, blood and viscera dripping onto their armour. Geralt smiled when they quickly stepped aside and let him pass. 

Once in the throne room, Geralt saw how the king slouched in his throne, eyeing him disdainfully, as Zavist, the kings’ mage, spoke into his ear. Though his tone was hushed, Geralt could hear every word

“My lord. The White Wolf approaches. He is a herald of woe, a charlatan, in Blaviken he only brought death."

“You’re beast, your Majesty.” Geralt said ignoring Zavist.

“Why should I accept you’re offering, Butcher of Blaviken?” the king said, punctuating his spiteful words with a spit in Geralt’s direction.

A slimy worm of a man, Zavist had been rumoured to be poisoning the king’s ear since his arrival at the Kovir court. Zavist stepped out from behind the throne, his eyes, like a hawk, beady and cold, watching Geralt’s’ every move. 

“I’ve done as asked, here is your monster,” he said sternly. 

“I don’t believe we ever had a contract with you,” Zavist spoke. “We don’t need your _kind_ in Kovir. I think you should move on Witcher,”

“Zavist, we made a deal, I will take what I’m owed then I shall move-”

“You will move on _now._ You have 12 hours to leave Kovir or else you shall be apprehended.” He turned an hourglass, the white sand pouring, Geralt’s 12 hours had begun. 

As he spoke, the palace guards stepped forwards him, Geralt stared one of them down, he could see the guard was nervous but still didn’t back down.

“King Idi. We had a deal. Zavist approached me about the amphisbaena. I will say it once more, I will take what I am owed.”

“I do not want a charlatan in my city, let alone my borders. The tales I’ve heard of you... You will leave the city immediately. Take him out of my sight,” the King said.

The guards grabbed Geralt by his shoulders and pushed him out of the throne room, and out of the palace grounds.

_Fool. How is that Zavist can lie so effortlessly and no one dare see through it?_

Maybe he could sell the beast for money somewhere, but he’d have to find it soon. Geralt wandered the city with Roach by his side, the body of the amphisbaena slumped over her saddle, fastened with a rope. People gawped at him, something he was used to by now, at least the city folk were keeping their distance. 

After asking a few wary locals about a possible buyer, Geralt found the small healers shop he was directed too. Inside was cluttered with bottles vials herbs lotions and other oddities. Behind the counter crushing herbs in a mortar was a woman with brown hair tied in braids, who bought the beast for a fair price, though a lot less than Zavist promised.

Geralt stepped outside to find himself surrounded by palace guards, spears pointed at him from all directions.

“By order of the King, you, Geralt of Rivia are to be arrested for failing to leave Kovir,” one said.

“I had 12 hours to-” the back of the spear hit the back of his knee making it drop to the floor. Before he could even get up and get his steel sword one hand was on his wrist, two on his left shoulder, one on his right. He was face down in the muddy stone, shackles on his wrists. 

_Fuck._

* * *

Geralt was not happy, to say the least, even you can see it.

“Of all the people to have a cellmate, Geralt of Rivia,” you jest.

“Always knew I’d see you in one eventually (Y/N),” Geralt spat back. 

“Didn’t think you’d be next to me though, did ya?”

He doesn’t reply as the guard locks his cell door, then remove his shackles through the bars. You watch him as he quietly sits down, his eyes averted from your gaze. Behind you a few cells down, the crazy man was still making noise.

“Can’t you break these bars? Aren’t you suppose to be super strong?”

“Can’t you pick that lock? Aren’t you suppose to be a thief?”

You cross your arms then slumped against the cold stone wall. You did have a pin, tucked away in your hair, but you couldn’t break out under the eyes of a guard, he’d take it from you and chuck you right back in. “If I had one, yes. At least then I wouldn’t have to be in your company.” 

A simple “Hmm” was all he said in reply. You couldn’t tell if the comment annoyed him or made him laugh. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed as he leant back against the opposite bar wall, his arms resting on his knees. His breathing was slow and easy.

“Why were you arrested anyway?”

“None of your concern,” he says grimly, not even opening his eyes.

You both sit in silence, but you only get more and more agitated. Your mind couldn’t keep off Madisson, your thoughts disarrayed, your nightmares coming to you in flashes: _Why did you leave? Where are you?_ Madisson says in ragged breaths. _You left! You left us to die!_ She coughs, and blood comes with it. You tried to push these thoughts aside as you got up and started pacing back and forth. Being in this cell certainly doesn’t help, the bars feeling as if they can hear your very thoughts, and kept inching in closer and closer to attend to every nightmare. 

You banged on the cell door: “Hey! How long am I supposed to be in here?!”

“Why? Do you have somewhere to be?” the guard said.

“Yes, actually! I’ve been here for hours and no-ones told me a thing.”

“Shame.”

“This is ridiculous!” you could feel yourself getting hot, rage and anxiety boiling your blood.

“Oi! Keep it down!” the guard said banging on your cell. “I suggest you make yourself comfortable missy. You attacked guests of the King. When the gallows are ready for ya, I’ll let ya know.”

You pressed your face to the bars, looking at this smug expression, “When I get out of here, you’ll be crow food.” 

“Sure.” the guard said and returned to the chair by the door. You returned to pacing up and down like a caged great cat.

“You attacked people?” Geralt asks.

“It was barely a punch!”

“Sure.”

“Some pompous prick who thought she could spit food at a homeless woman.”

“Hmmm.” 

“Okay, what the fuck does ‘hmmm’ mean huh? Why are so quiet all of a sudden? You could barely hold back your opinions of me at Tretogor.”

Geralt kept quiet with a sly smile on his face, knowing it will piss you off.

“Gods you’re infuriating.”

“Would you stop pacing and calm down?” Geralt said crossly, his fists clenched.

“Calm down? Calm down?! Don’t fucking tell me to calm down when my-” you stopped yourself.

“When your what?” he asked eyebrows raised in expectation and judgement.

“Nevermind,” you said sitting down and crossing your arms, defeated.

“Have a hidden cache of jewels you’re worried about?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcastic disdain.

“Actually I have a sick relative that’s expecting me.” you bit back “I hope.”

“You hope?”

“My sister. She was already on death’s door when I left looking for some real medicine,” you said to your shoes. “She could six feet under already and I’m... and I’m here.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Save it. I’m tired of hearing ‘I’m sorry’” you spat.

“(Y/N).” the tone of his voice was different. You turned to look at him. That edge that he wore, that honed sharpness he seemed to have perfected over many years, the steel contours of his mask, was dulled. He held your name in his mouth softly, firmly, warmly. “I’m sorry,” he says again, his leonine, yellow eyes never moving away from yours, you couldn’t help but stare back. You felt his words in your chest. 

“Thank you,” you say as sincerely as you can. You turn your face away from him back to your shoes. You had to. You exhaled, trying to stop your eyes from watering and the lump in your throat growing bigger.

An hour or so passed, mostly in silence between you and Geralt. You watched as the sun began to set, you kept your eyes on the guard. 

_When is his relief coming? He must be leaving at some point._

You had to admit Geralt was a perplexing man. One moment he is all teeth, and the next he shows you his belly. Furthermore, he sat there, for the better part of an hour on his knees, hands in his lap, eye closed and upright like a tombstone. Geralt himself was trying to focus on something, anything other than the scent of lemon and sandalwood which right now was permanently under his nose.

“What _are_ you doing?” you ask.

“Meditating.”

“Hmm. Looks very boring.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, I’m bored just watching you.”

An exasperated sigh left Geralt’s lips. He opened his eyes and moved his feet from under his bum so he was sitting normally.

“No please, don’t let me stop you.”

He only looked at you with an irked expression.

“So what are you in for? Aren’t you supposed to be the right honourable Witcher?”

“The King’s mage refused to pay me and gave me 12 hours to leave Kovir. Though I think his hourglass is purposefully broken.”

“So, they just threw you in here?”

“Yes.”

“Bastards.”

“Hmmm.”

“Now was that a ‘hmm’ in agreement, a ‘hmm’ in disagreement or a ‘hmm’ of indifference?”

“Guess.”

Another hour or so passed and the sun had finally set. There was knock at the door, the guard promptly got up from his chair, unlocked the door and let in his relief and handed him the keys. The new guard promptly locked the door from the inside and sat in the wooden chair. Dusk fell into night, you kept your eyes on the guard, waiting for him to fall asleep. You laid on the hard floor and waited and waited. You turned to look at Geralt, one arm under his head, the other resting on his stomach, peacefully asleep. Even the nutty old man a few cells down had rolled into a ball and was snoring loudly. It must’ve been 2 or 3 am when the guards head finally dropped and started snoring. 

You pulled the pin from your hair and began working on the lock. You opened it quickly and celebrated under youre breath. You opened the gate quietly, making sure to lock it behind you. You liked the idea of people thinking you’d vanished into thin air. As you crouched, you tiptoed over to Geralt’s cell and began working on his lock. His head suddenly shot up, scaring you. He saw you, you held a finger to your lips, he nodded. 

Once unlocked, you pulled the gate open and he silently stepped through, hunched and ready to pounce if need be. You went to close the gate to lock it behind him, when in creaked, loudly. The guard awoke with a start and saw you and Geralt, out of your cells.

“Shit,” you said.

“Fuck.” Geralt said simultaneously.

Instinctively, Geralt pounced, grappling the guard and placing him in a chokehold, knocking him unconscious and laying him gently back in his chair. It happened so quick you almost missed it.

You took the keys from the unconscious guards pocket and began unlocking the crazy old man’s cell.

“What are you doing? We don’t have time for this,” Geralt asked

“I’d rather the guards be chasing him around than us,” you opened the gate and woke him up, unlocked the inside door and set him loose. Immediately he began yelling as he ran down the corridor, you began to step forward to make you way into the corridor when Geralt crossed his arm in front of you.

“Wait,” he commanded, he abruptly pushed you back into the room.

“Hey-” you began to protest but Geralt closed the door and pulled you to the side, his hand over your lips. At the moment, a few guards ran past, chasing after the old man. He was so close, your chests touching as he listened ardently to the footsteps fading away. Geralt looked down, to see you looking at him with wide eyes, the smell of lemon and sandalwood now taking permanent residence in his senses. As he turned his eyes on you, you thought about how bright they looked, even in the middle of the night. You tried to read him, but you couldn’t. The moment seemed to pass agonisingly slow.

As the footsteps retreated into silence, Geralt released you, and you both made your way into the corridor. You locked the door behind you, hoping to leave that moment there. You kept the keys, who knows they may come in handy. Geralt had already begun making his way in the direction the guards and you followed. 

You both moved stealthily through the small town keep, peering around corners, hiding in alcoves and knocking a few guards out here and well. You also noticed that every light Geralt passed went out, you wondered how he did that, not doubt Witcher magick. 

Not a word was spoken between you, you understood each plan of action through looks alone. There was a guard in front of you, you snuck up behind, wrapped your arm around his neck and held till he fell limp. Geralt looked pleased, and you couldn’t help but smile a little. You felt confident around him as if you both had been working together like this before. It was fun, you had to admit. 

As you snuck around, you passed a door, as you looked through the window, you saw your things: you belt equipped with knives pouches and grappling hook, and two imposing swords in their scabbards, but most importantly the vial of medicine.

“Psst.” you beckoned Geralt in front you of you, and nodded to the door, already trying keys on the ring to unlock it. Geralt peered through, moved back at you and nodded. You finally found the key that unlocked the door and moved into the small circular room (about 15x15ft), placed the keys on the table, and began collecting your things. 

Strapping your belts on you suddenly felt better, you didn’t realise how naked you felt without them. You held your grappling hook and kissed it “Oh how I missed you my lovely,” you stuffed the hook into one of the pouched and looped the rope through one of the belt loops, making it look like all you were carrying was an innocent rope, you tucked your knives into your belt and the smaller ones in their usual hiding places, in your sleeve and one in either boot.

“What sort of person walks around with a grappling hook? Let alone kisses one” Geralt asked.

“This baby has saved my life more times than I can count. I’m gonna buried with this thing,” you replied.

As you both stood there, gearing up, you heard thundering footsteps behind you. You looked to Geralt before you both turned to see a hulking beast of a man. He was even bigger than Geralt, near 7ft of natural heft and muscle. He had a short, brown mohawk and brown eyes, only 6 front teeth and a scar from the corners of his lips to his cheeks, a fearsome beast of a man. 

“Fuck” you said.

“Shit.” Geralt said simultaneously.

The guard stepped in and immediately started swinging, you ducked under his heavy fist and brought out your knives. “C’mon then big fella,” you taunted. 

The brute went for you, you half turned and half stepped back, toward the door, a fluid quarter circle, shoulders and all, the wall only inches away from your back. You had nowhere to go. 

From behind Geralt brought out his sword and swung down swiftly and cleanly through his back, the guard yelped in pain and turned to face him. As he did you jumped on this back, driving your knife into his neck, again, again and again. Blood spatted everywhere. He roared and fell a few steps backwards, knocking you straight into the wall. You dropped to the floor, the wind knocked out of you. Geralt stepped forward, sidestepping every swipe and jab. He lunged forward with his sword but was met with a heavy kick right in the centre of his chest. He flew back against the table, breaking it into pieces and landing on his arse with a grunt.

_Shitshitshithsit. Get up (Y/N) godsdammit._

You managed to pull yourself to your feet, you back was sore, your breath was heavy. The brute swung wide you ducked, rolled to your left and jammed your knife right into the back of his armpit. Geralt’s sword zinged past your face threw the back of the guard’s neck, out through his throat. You heard a gargled cry, he fell to his knees, then flat on his stomach. You watched as the last breath left his body, and the blood started pooling out of his neck and back. You felt frozen. Geralt placed his hand on your shoulder and you nearly jumped.

“(Y/N)?”

You thought for a moment, your heart was still racing you could hear your blood in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve never killed anyone before,” you finally said. You looked at the body on the floor, the blood looked black in the moonlight.

Geralt heard more footsteps int he distance. He went to the window and looked out, “C’mon we need to go.”

Nothing.

He placed both hands on your shoulders and turned you away from the body, “(Y/N)! We need to leave. Now.”

“Okay."

“Okay. Get your grappling we’re climbing out this window,” 

You began scrambling to get your grappling hook out, Geralt could hear the footsteps getting closer. He saw them coming round the corner

“In there!” they shouted.

“Fuck.” he picked up the keys from the floor, stepped over the corpse and locked it, just before they got to him. 

“(Y/N) you’re gonna have to hurry.”

You tried but you couldn’t focus, you’re hand were shaking, you felt like melting butter, sinking through the floorboards. Suddenly a thought hit you like a tone of bricks: _the medicine._ You dropped the grappling hook and started moving broken pieces pf the table, frantically looking for the vial.

_No no no no it has to be here!_

The guards starting pounding on the door in unison. 

“(Y/N)!” Geralt shouted. He could feel his temper surging.

“Where is it?!” Then you saw. The smashed vial, its contents drying into the floor. “No. no, no no no!” you screamed and began sobbing, desperately trying to pull the pieces of glass together, creating cuts in your hands. You didn’t feel them, all you could think about was Madisson’s only hope being soaked into the floorboards.

The guards continued to pound on the door, its wood creaking and breaking. Geralt knew they couldn’t stay long before the door gave way. He grabbed the grappling hook, and looped his arm around your waist, pulling you from the floor. You tried to fight him off, kicked and punched his arm but he wouldn’t release you. He smashed out the window, placed the hook on the inside sill. “Hold on,” he said. You place your arms around his neck, still looking at the shattered glass on the floor, and he jumped.

You both landed, though not very gracefully. Geralt flicked his wrists and the grappling hook came down with a thud. Geralt grabbed your wrist and pulled you. You didn’t know where you were going and you couldn’t pay attention. You could see was Madisson’s limp body, cold and bare, as if at any point she might melt into snow. 

“What the fuck was back there? You almost got us killed! I should’ve left you,”

You found yourself crouched behind a stable in between some barrels and haystacks not too far from the keep. “Well, why didn’t you?” you said tears still in your eyes.

“You freed me. I don’t like being in someone’s debt.”

Your heart sank for a moment. _Was that all it was to him? I thought we were... becoming friends. Well, fuck him then._

“Good, well you can leave me now then. I’m going back to Heria’s.” you began to stand up.

Geralt pulled you back down, “You cannot go back there you are now a wanted person. If the city guards can find me there, then they can find you there easily.”

“I’m going to get another vial of medicine!”

“Fine! You’re a bigger fool than I thought!” he said and he threw you wrist out of his hand.

“Well seeing as you don’t ‘owe me’ anymore I don’t see how it’s your concern!” You snatched your grappling hook from his hand. “Goodbye Geralt.” You turned and began making your way towards Heria’s.

As Geralt watched you leave, he felt that same ache in his chest he felt in Tretogor as he witnessed the last glimpse of your (H/C) flutter around the corner.

* * *

You covertly made your way through the city, trying to find your way back to Heria’s. Guards were crawling everywhere looking for you and Geralt, you took to climbing under the bridges and on the edge of the canals rather than the main streets. Eventually, you found yourself at the back of Heria’s shop. You threw up your grappling hook onto the edge of a window balcony and silently climbed up. You unlocked the window latch and climbed in.

You found yourself in the backroom of Heria’s shop which was occupied with more herbs, cases of empty vials and bottle, a large wooden desk, and a lockbox, no doubt for coins. You heard the shuffling of feet and soundlessly ducked behind the door. Heria stepped into the room in her nightclothes, lantern in one hand. You stepped out and placed a blade on her throat. 

“Take what you want. I’ve plenty of coin.”

“It’s not your coin I’m after,” you whispered in her ear, you released her and pushed her forward, but still holding onto your knife.

“You. You came here yesterday morning.”

“Yes, and since then that medicine I purchased from you has since been destroyed. I need you to make another.”

She paused for a moment, calculating her next sentence “you’re the one they’re looking for aren’t you?”

You threw your knife, it whizzed past Heria’s head into the wall behind her, taking off a bit of her hair. You walked up to her slowly, leaned over her, your face inches from hers and pulled the knife out of the wall. “Then you know I how desperate am. And what a desperate person might be driven too.”

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “It’ll still take a while.”

She rolled up her sleeves and began gathering materials. You sat near the shop window, keeping an eye out for any guards walking by. 

“Just do it as quickly as you can. The sooner you’re done the sooner I’m out of your hair.” 

She continued to work, mixing herbs and liquids, about an hour passed. “I’m just going to the backroom to get some bits,” Heria said. You nodded and off she went, you turned your attention back to the window, when you heard a loud bang and whistling noise and another loud bang. You raced to the back room, where Heria had set off some kind of red dust streaking in the sky from the balcony. 

“What the fuck have you done?!”

“Every guard in the city will see that signal,” she said with a devious smile on her lips.

“You stupid bitch!” you grabbed her by her collar and held her over the balcony.

“Better start running girly,” you had an internal debate about dropping her into the freezing canal below, but she was right, you need to get the hell out of dodge. 

“SHE’S HERE! GUARDS! GUARDS! SHE’S HERE!” she yelled.

You let her go and raced to the front of the shop and out the door. You started running towards the city gates, you turned left, right, over a bridge, left again. You turned to see at least 10 guards who noticed you “There she is!” and start running towards.

_Shit._

You ran back, right, another right, a left, another bridge. You saw even more guards in front of you heading your way. You turned to make your way back the way you came when the first set of guards rounded the corner.

_Oh for fuck’s sake! Can’t a girl get a break?_

You were stuck on a bridge, both directions covered. You looked to the canal, a boat was passing under it. You jumped over the bridge and landed on the boat, almost rocking yourself and its driver off into the water. You held your balance and jumped onto a jetty, then to another running up the edge of the canal.

“Hey! Come back here!” you heard the guards say, leaning over the edge of the bridge.

You needed to get off the streets and out of sight. Another boat was coming pass, you jumped onto it and then onto the opposite jetty, threw your grappling hook and climbed up onto the roof. You jumped from roof to roof, running and rolling, your feet seeming to find the perfect spot, running towards the city gate in the distance. 

Guards started coming up the side of the buildings via staircases and ladders and started chasing you over the rooftops. Arrows and bolts whizzed past your head, you dodged every one, feeling untouchable, or very lucky. You kept running until you came to an open town square, there were no buildings close by to jump to, you caught yourself just before nearly falling over the side of the 4 story building. You looked, left, right, the only way was around the square, which was risking with more guards closing in. You had no choice. You followed the edge of the building left, running as fast as you could, there was another roof in sight, close enough when-

A scorching pain hit your shoulder, you tripped and fell, managing to stay on the roof. You couldn’t breathe. You looked down, an arrow was sticking out through your shoulder. You turned and spotted a guard about 60 feet away, longbow in hand, loading another arrow.

_Guess my luck just ran out._

The pain in your shoulder felt white-hot as if you’d just been struck with a poker. You looked down to see blood pouring out of your body. Your head felt light. Your vision was clouding. You needed to escape and quickly. 

You stood on your shaky feet and pulled your trusty grappling hook out, hooked it around a laundry post and abseiled down the building. Your feet landed against the wall the first two times, but on the third, you felt your legs buckle from the pain, you grip slipped and you fell 20 foot to the floor. You landed on your shoulder, pushing the arrow threw further, and you cried out in pain. You fought the urge to pass out, but it was an uphill battle. You barely managed to get to your feet, and started limping towards the gate, it was so close now you were sure of it. From behind you heard more guards. 

_Fucking fantastic._

Your vision was still clouding, and the adrenaline was leaving your system, tiredness was overcoming your body. But you refused to die here. You weren’t dying without saying goodbye to Madisson, even if Heather and Jaskier had to drag you back to Burdoff, you were not dying in this godsforsaken city. 

The guards were getting closer, but you limped as fast as you could. More appeared in front of you, you turned left into an alley, the right, then left into a wider main road. You could hear more footsteps, you tried to keep walking. You had to hold yourself up, using the walls to prop up your failing body. You could barely see now.

_This is it. This is how I die. Fuck Matthias is gonna hate forever now._

You could hear hooves against the brick road. You could feel your body shutting down.

 _At least I tried,_ you thought as darkness enveloped your vision.

“(Y/N)!” 

You strained to open your eyes. You felt large capable arms, pick you up, and seat you into a saddle. They wrapped around your waist, you felt a firm chest against your back.

“Ride Roach!”

Through your lashes, you could see a white mane and the outline of a chiselled face.

“Geralt?”

“You’re alright now magpie.”

You couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer, you let sleep take you.

* * *

Severe pain in your shoulder woke you up. You opened your eyes to a green lush forest canopy and an extreme thirst. You turned to see Jaskier, peering over you.

“Jask?”

“Geralt! Geralt she’s awake!”

“....water.” you managed to mumble. 

“Yes! Yes, water! One moment please (Y/N),” you heard Jaskier set off and return with a waterskin which he placed to your lips. You drank as much as you could you were so parched. 

“Where are we? How long have I been out?” your voice was ragged as if you’d been shouting for a day straight.

“Three days.” You heard Geralt's voice. You looked up to see him wandering in from the woods with firewood. 

You turned to see you’re bandaged shoulder, it still hurt like hell but there wasn’t an arrow in it anymore. You soon realised you were only in a shirt that wasn’t yours.

_Gods he patched me up didn’t he? Is this shirt his? Gods, does that mean-_

You tried to push the thought of Geralt seeing you unclothed from your mind, but you felt your cheeks get hot anyway. 

“You took a pretty good shot to the shoulder. You shouldn’t move it,” he said sitting down on a log and adding wood the fire.

You stood up immediately and began looking for you’re things. “My clothes?” you asked hoarsely. 

Jaskier picked up your shirt, corset and coat and passed them to you. You held out your shirt, a hole in it where the arrow when threw, a dried bloodstain around it. You tried not to look at it. 

“Do you boys mind?”

“Oh not at all,” Jaskier said.

“Jaskier!” Geralt scolded.

“Oh right, you wanna- okay sorry!” He turned his back and Geralt swivelled on his log.

You lifted your arms up to take your shirt off, but a pain shot down your arm and back, you tried not to yell, but you failed. You couldn't loft your left arm above your chin without spasming.

Geralt stormed up out of his log seat and strode over to you, “I told you not to move it!” he said gruffly.

You kept your back to him as he helped pull your shirt over your head and pull you sore arm through the sleeves of your own tarnished blouse. His touch was soft, even with his heavily calloused and scared hands. You turned and stared at him as he helped you get dressed, his face painted in a worried frown. You saw how little by little, the edges of his mask were wearing away. Your skin felt like it was covered in pins, lightly tickling you up the back your neck.

“I don’t need any help. I had it,” you said bitterly, like a child who doesn’t want help tieing their shoes. 

He picked up the corset and helped you pull your arms through, you tied up the front yourself. “Sure. Just like you didn’t need any help in escaping the city guard,” he patronised. 

“I had it under control,” you asserted, you knew you were lying through your teeth, but you couldn’t let him see how hurt, and how taken aback by his kindness you were.

“You were half dead when I found you,” he said aggravated. 

“You didn’t owe me anything. And just to be clear I don’t intend to keep this tit-for-tat going either.”

Geralt scoffed in disbelief. “You know you actually had me thinking you were different. Turns out I was right. There is no honour among thieves.”

“I think we’re all a little tired and hurt and we just need some rest.” Jaskier piped up, trying to quell the tension between you and Geralt. 

Geralt just stormed off into the forest. You sat back down and sulked. Jaskier tried to cheer you up, but you knew the truth. Geralt was right. You weren’t honourable. You couldn’t even say thank you to him for saving your life. But what made your stomach twist even harder was that you failed your sister. You came all this way for what? To throw it away because some stranger spat food at another? You laid down and looked up at the canopy, wondering whether to even return home. How could you empty-handed? To put Matthias and Madisson through all that for nothing? 

As you ran away with your thoughts, you heard Geralt return with a couple of fish and began roasting them over the fire. You all sat in silence, save for Jaskier strumming a few chords and humming to himself. You ate in silence, you tried to ignore the ache in your left shoulder, the ache in your chest every time you thought on returning home. 

Night fell, and you and Geralt still hadn’t spoken a word to each other. You tried to sleep, but your shoulder only added more discomfort. After an hour or so of lying wide awake in pain you decided to stretch your legs. You stood up and walked to the horses, Heather and Roach seemed to be getting along. You patted heather on her nose, she brushed her head into yours. 

“You should be resting.” You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard Geralt's deep voice reverberating behind you.

“Fuck! You need to stop sneaking up like that.”

Geralt didn’t say anything, just looked at you. You felt his gaze bore into you, your cheeks flushed and your heart started racing. _Gods why the fuck is he making so nervous?_

Again his expression was so hard to read.

_Gods, what is he thinking? He doesn’t look mad, but he doesn’t look not mad._

“Listen I-” you began. You didn’t know why but you couldn’t speak properly. “I’m sorry for being such a bitch earlier. You were right,” you said down to your shoes.

“Sorry what was that?” he jested.

“Don’t make me say it again.” 

“No, I didn’t quite catch that.”

You let out a long sigh coupled with a smile you couldn’t hide, you hated how he was winding you up so easily. “You were right. I’m not honourable. But you are. You didn’t have to come get me. So....thank you.”

Geralt felt warmed by your sincerity. “You’re welcome,” he replied earnestly.

You both stood there, looking at each other, you didn’t know what to say next. You gazed at his face, you once found it as sharp as his swords, but now in spite of its oblique features, it had truly softened, you wondered if he knew.

“It’s nice.”

“What is?”

“Seeing you with your mask off.”

You watched as a surprised and perplexed expression crossed his face, and decided to let him think on it. 

"Goodnight Geralt.” you made your way back to your bedroll and laid down to sleep, though like most nights, it would only come in the small hours of the morning. 

* * *

The next morning you awoke early to ready Heather for the journey back to Burdoff. You said goodbye to Jaskier who threw his arms around you, making you flinch in pain.

“Sorry sorry sorry! I forgot! I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again anyway. Send Romy my love.”

“I will.” You held him tightly with your one good arm.

When it came to saying goodbye to Geralt, it was much more awkward. 

“Uh.. well. Take care,” Geralt said stiffly. He patted you on your good arm.

“Yeah. Goodbye Geralt. Take care.”

You climbed onto Heather and started your trek home alone. You felt like an injured soldier returning from the battlefield. The whole journey you practised what you were gonna say to your siblings when you walked through those doors. 

Each day was a slog through the wilderness.

Each night a new nightmare. 

Eventually, you saw Burdoff in the distance, and your heart sank.

You rode straight to your cottage. You saw Matthias outside, sitting in the rocking chair. He saw you approaching and stood up as you climbed off Heather.

“Listen before you say anything I’m so sorry I left but I had to try to see if something could save her. I’m so so sorry I left without talking to you about it bu-” Matthias’ arms were wrapped around you tightly.

“I was worried you’d never come back. I’m glad your home.”

You held tightly, you didn’t realise how much you missed him.

“Madisson?”

“She’s alive. Though barely. I’m glad you made it back in time.”

“Me too,” You stormed into the cottage, she was awake and smiled when she saw you. You climbed into the bed next to her and threw your arm around her. 

“I missed you,” you said.

“Missed you too,” she replied weakly. “Where did you go?”

“Well..”

You told Matthias and Madisson all that happened since you left nearly a month ago, the journey, Pont Avis, the witch Heria, being arrested, breaking out with the White Wolf, trying to get another vial, being hunted down by the city guard, getting shot and being rescued by Geralt. Saying all out loud made you realise how insane all of it had been. After your story, you tucked Madisson back into bed and returned Heather to Jacob. 

That night you slept a few hours more than usual.

  
  
  



	5. Guleta to Mettina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N learns of a hidden treasure in a ruined castle and runs into a a familiar Witcher on her journey through enemy territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long I actually have a job now! xx and as always italics = inner thoughts.

Madisson died two days after you arrived home from Pont Avis. She passed in the small hours of the morning when the sun was peeking its eyes over the horizon, the dark quilted sky turning a muted light blue. You collected your father’s old wood axe and waded into the forest. You found a few birch trees and started cutting them down for the pyre. Each swing felt like a punishment, each strike felt like an act of contrition. You imagined your own face contorted in the rings of the silver bark, cutting into yourself. The sun rose high and you were still hacking and chopping against the tree. 

“Need a hand?” Matthias asked.

“Nope,” you said defiantly as you continued driving your axe into the tree.

“I’ve taken her to the alderman. He’s wrapping her body for the pyre.”

You were only half-listening as you toiled away. 

“(Y/N) can you stop for a minute?”

“We need wood for the pyre,” you stated flatly.

Matthias stood there for a moment, staring at you as you repeatedly struck the tree, unable to look at him. He tried to find words of comfort, but none seemed right. He left you to your compunctious task. 

You kept going, chipping away at the tree, bit by bit.

As you were chopping, you heard a rustle amongst the undergrowth. You turned to see a doe, frozen in place and staring at you. She had big brown eyes and long lashes which blinked at you, her nose twitched, trying to figure out if you were friend or foe. From under her white belly, a fawn poked out its head and stared at you also. It was so tiny. It was unsteady on its thin, gangly legs, its white spots sticking out against its reddish-brown fur. It was so impossibly small. You wanted to run over, wrap a blanket around it, feed it milk and honey. You felt the mother keep watch on you, before turning and running, with her fawn, into the deep green of the forest. You stood there for a few moments before continuing with the tree till it fell.

Three days later, at dusk, you and Matthias carried Madisson’s body on a wooden stretcher to the pyre. The townsfolk of Burdoff held lanterns along the path as you walked solemnly, feeling the weight of your sister's body on your shoulder. Tears wouldn’t stop streaming down your face. 

Once you arrived at the pyre, Romy, Reuben, Jacob, and the alderman were there. You placed her on the pyre of silver birch, the alderman laid herbs around her as he said a prayer, he placed two coins over her eyes. He handed you and Matthias a bouquet of wildflowers which you placed either side of her head before lighting the pyre. 

You stood, tears silently washing down your face and watched till dawn as she burned.

* * *

The following days felt the same, dismal and pointless. Each morning you sat on your porch in the rocking chair most of the day and each night you fell asleep drunk at the tavern. Each night you didn’t feel any better. The nights drew darker and colder, and with them brought more soldiers from across Temeria, on their way to fight Nilfgaard in the south. A month after Madisson’s death, you could barely move in the tavern without bumping into plate armour. The King had gathered his forces, and there was camp stationed only a half mile from Burdoff. Rumours swarmed around the tavern like flies trapped in a glass bottle:

“ _ They’ve taken Ebbing..” “They showed no quarter...” _

_ “The rider in Black...”  _

You kept to your ale, the war was for those with money as far as you were concerned. 

Tonight you sat shoulder to shoulder with Romy. She tried to get you back into your old routine, especially when the tavern was filled to the brim with hard-deaded soldiers, it was easy pickings, however, you weren’t in the mood. You weren’t in the mood for anything to be honest, food tasted like horse glue, the ale tasted like piss, laughter sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard, yet you found no peace in silence.

You managed to stumble home, an acidic taste hanging on the back of your throat. Matthias was sitting on the porch, his eyes red and tired. You fell down next to him, and leaned your head on his shoulder for a moment. 

“I hate it here,” you finally said. You were shocked to realise you really meant it. Everything about home had turned sour, like milk left in the hot sun. 

“Me too,” he replied with a sigh.

You paused for a moment, “Let’s move somewhere else.”

“Oh sure,’ Matthias said sarcastically, “I’m thinking 5 bedchambers, 3 maids and a big garden.”

“I’m serious Matt. I’ll go off, do what I do best while you hold down the fort, and when I have enough money, we can sell this land to Jacob and piss off somewhere near the sea. It’ll be  _ ours _ Matt, out own home, no more sitting on this fucking porch  _ waiting  _ for something better to happen to us because it’s not. I’m staying in this shit-stain of a village waiting around to cut down another pyre.”

His brow was furrowed thoughtfully as he considered your proposition. “Can’t I go with you? I don’t really want to ‘hold down the fort’ alone,” he asked.

“Listen, Matt, I love you but I can’t be watching your back as well as my own,” you said jokingly. “But really I couldn’t forgive myself if we both got caught and thrown in prison. If I get in trouble that’s my own fault, but I’m not dragging you down with me okay?”

He laughed. “I guess that's fair. Just be careful, okay? Promise?”

“Promise.” 

* * *

**_*6 months later*_ **

You had amassed a considerable amount of money over the past few months roaming the Continent, pickpocketing the wealthy and burglarising their homes. It was especially easy at times as some had fled their residences to find safety further north from the oncoming war. From what you had heard, Nilfgaard was edging closer and closer, and while some people weren’t concerned, some others were very cautious. You were currently striding through a manor in Guleta, pilfering everything and anything you could find of value. There were items strewn everywhere, whoever lived here left in a hurry.

It was a huge home with multiple servants quarters and passages, a large foyer and an even larger dining room, whoever lived here was one for entertaining. You liked this house, it had high ceilings held by large wooden beams, a fireplace in every other room and even a bath built into the ground large enough to fit 5 people comfortably. You filled it with piping hot water and poured in sweet-smelling oils and fresh salts into the steamy water. You took off your favourite (and only) corset, black blouse, trousers and now rather sweaty boots and climbed in. As you soaked in the bath, you thought about what kind of home you would buy for yourself and Matthias. 

_ A cottage in the woods? Or near a cliff near the beach? Or in a city, busy with pockets to pick? Either way, I am definitely getting a bath like this. _

You continued to wander around the house (now in a floor-length burgundy silk robe) as if it was truly yours, making your way upstairs. You found a considerable amount of jewellery in the master bedroom. 

You went to the study, hoping to find a lockbox. The study had bookcases that reached the tall ceiling, equipped with a rolling ladder for easy access to the highest shelves. In the centre was a large oak desk with a leather chair behind it, against the far wall, a now dormant fireplace adorned with trinkets, some of which were very shiny, so naturally you pocketed them for later.

You lazily wandered through the study, your fingers dancing along the spines of the numerous books. As you looked down, you noticed odd crescent-shaped scuff marks on the floor. As you bent down to inspect it, you felt a small gust of wind against your cheek. It was coming from between the bookcases. You stood up and tried prying the bookcase away from the wall. No luck. You began eyeing each book meticulously, wondering if one would open a secret door. 

After pulling every book off the shelves (even the ones at the very top), the bookcase had not moved. 

_ Shame. A secret bookcase would have completed this perfect manor. _

You sighed and leaned on the wall, knocking a candle off its sconce in the process. You bent down to pick it up and place it back, as you did you noticed that there was a small mirror in the wall behind where the candle would sit. 

_ Funny. There aren’t mirrors behind the others. _

Instantly you began searching the room furiously for flint to light the candle and eventually found them near the fireplace. You lit the candle and placed it in the sconce. The light from the candle seemed to be magnified by the mirror (which had now turned translucent) to somewhere behind the wall, and with a whining creak, the bookcase opened. 

It revealed a shadowy corridor, so dark you could not see where it ended. It reminded you of that cell in Pont Avis, and you shivered. Next to you was an unlit oil lamp on a wooden table. As you picked it up, you saw that it sat on a golden disc which then raised to align with the tabletop. A candle on the stone corridor wall sparked into life in front of you, then another, and another, lighting your way through the tunnel. You lit the oil lamp and took your first step into the secret tunnel. 

You came to a small stone room, windowless and lit only by those candles. In the centre was a desk, though not as large or as grand as the one in the study. The walls seemed to be covered in various papers, maps and documents, drawings and incomprehensible scraps. 

_ Someone had a  _ _ very _ _ serious hobby and  _ _ a lot _ _ of free time.  _

In the corner was a lockbox.

_ Finally. _

You picked it with ease, and inside were more documents, each mentioning a mage ‘Alzur.’ You spread all the papers, reading each with care.

You discovered what the homeowner was so interested in, the ‘Riches and Artifacts of Alzur’ as the writer described it, languid tales of the mage’s power, spells he created, but more importantly his mass of ‘invaluable artefacts’ at Stygga Castle. From the description of the artefacts and the mass of treasure this Alzur had gathered, you could feel that tell-tell tingling sensation down your spine.

You were going. You had to. All these items were just sitting in a castle somewhere, waiting. Waiting for you. You had all these notes, documents, images and facts to arm you with knowledge on how to find it, you knew you could pull it off. 

_ This is it. No need more pickpocketing and breaking and entering. This is my chance to really get the money for that home for Mattias, for me. This is my chance to really become the greatest thief, to steal from a renowned mage, to become ‘the Amazing (Y/N)’. (What about (Y/N) the Nimble? Or Light Fingered (Y/N)? No, no, ‘The (Y/H/C) Moonlighter’) _

As you relished that streak of lightning down your spine, it suddenly occurred to you that you hadn’t felt that sensation since... well, since Madisson died. This reminder of her absence left a bad taste in your mouth, but your thoughts turned to Matthias.

_ What I couldn’t do for her, I’m going to do for him. _

* * *

Spring was Geralt’s favourite time of year in Kaer Morhen, though he would never admit it, he thought having a favourite anything was for children. The sun felt closer this high in the mountains, the rivers thawing, and the snow receding slowly up the mountain. The cold of winter still clung to the air, though he didn’t mind this, in fact he liked how bracing it was. As he opened his shutters, to feel the sun, to feel that bracing air, to smell the dew on the defrosting grass, he thought this is what being at peace must feel like. 

Later, Geralt found Vesemir outside practising his drills. Vesemir had invited him on business, though having arrived late into the night, he insisted Geralt rest, they could talk in the morning. They caught up, reminisced about his days training at Kaer Morhen, and finally, Vesemir got around to business.

“I’ve heard rumours...” Vesemir began, “that Brehen and his pack of felines are trying to return to Stygga Castle.”

“The School of the Cat back in Nilfgaard?”

“Yes. And it seems they aren’t opposed to working for them. Assassins and spies.”

“That's not news. The Cats have never had a problem choosing sides.”

“No, but there are even more rumours about what remains in those ruins.” An apprehensive expression clouded Vesemir’s face. “Alzur’s Keep.” Geralt knew full well of Alzur, a long-dead sorcerer of outstanding talent, in equal parts brilliant and depraved, said to have a voice like honey. Some of his aberrations still roam the Continent to this day. He is also responsible for the School of the Cat’s initial split from Kaer Morhen, Stygga Castle becoming their new home.

“Apparently he has all kinds of trinkets, spells, artefacts and weapons hidden somewhere in the castle.”

“And you don’t want Brehen getting his hands on anything.”

“He’s already killed so many innocents. He brings such shame to anyone who calls themselves a witcher.”

“And if I find them there? Am I to take out the whole caravan?”

“Those traitors can stay in that ruined castle all they like, just find Alzur’s Keep, and burn it all to ash.”

* * *

Your travels towards Stygga Castle into Nilfgaardian territory taught you much about the war. The journey was long and arduous, setting off from Guleta through Rivia and Lyria, down further to the edges of Sodden and Toussaint and wading into Mettina, into Nilfgaardian occupation. Most days you walked, from sun-up to sun-down; sometimes a friendly face would let you ride in the back of their cart into town, but the further south you went, the fewer friendly faces you saw. The people seemed aggravated, starved, cold, tired, humourless, murderous and distrusting of any stranger, especially one from the north. “Nordling” some of them called you, though you didn’t take it personally. After a while, you avoided towns altogether unless you really needed to, finding your dinners in the undergrowth or stealing from a few hunters traps here and there. 

It was now summer as your way around the swamps of Mettina, the copious amount of water nearby made the forest humid under the summer sun, you were constantly wiping the sweat dripping down your forehead and the back of your neck, your corset felt like you were in steel and your leather boots squished with sweat with each step. You sweltered under the broiling shade of the canopy when you heard water nearby, gods you hoped it was freshwater. You ran towards the trickles and bubbles, to find a stream. You took off your boots and stepped into the crisp water feeling instant relief. You poured water over your face and neck, cooling off in the hot sun. 

_ I shouldn’t linger too long  _ you thought after a few moments of laying on the grass, your feet in the restorative water. You stood, put your boots back on and filled your waterskin, taking a large sip when-

“Don’t move,” a harsh croaky voice threatened behind you. You didn’t.

“Stand up. Slowly,” the voice ordered. As you did, two Nilfgaardian soldiers came into view, all in black. One, with a gap tooth and a badly shaven face, placed his sword under your throat. The other had pockmarked skin and was armed with a loaded bow and arrow. You couldn't hear any more soldiers so you decided not to panic. 

“What’s a thing like you doing all the way out here?” the gap-toothed one asked sinisterly.

“I’m heading to Malhoun,” you lied, “my sister has fallen ill.” You thought a half-truth might be more convincing, they seemed to believe you.

“And you came this way? All on your lonesome?” the pockmarked one inquired, a perverse smile on his lips. 

_ I need to get out of here, fast. _

“Do you have your travel papers?” 

_ Fuuuuuuucccckkk. _

“I didn’t have time, she really is very ill. Her face is yellow save for the blisters and fever keeps her up most of the night sir,” you pleaded, trying to look as innocent as you could. Gods you wished Romy was here with you right now, no-one could resist her smile.

“Travelling without papers is illegal... we’ll have to take you in.” The pockmarked one grabbed your wrists and tied them with rope, he was deceptively strong.

“No, no please I have to get to Malhoun!”

“A quick pit stop and the checkpoint, and you’ll be on your way... or if we find out you’re lying, you’ll be hung,” the gap-toothed one said cheerily as he began to push you deeper into the forest.

* * *

You had been walking for what felt like hours, your feet were aching, your wrists sore from how tight the soldiers tied the rope, you could see red raw ligature marks start to form and you were beyond thirsty.

“Please can I have some water, we’ve been walking for hours,” you asked. You had stopped in a particularly marshy spot of grass, the swamp water coming up to your ankles.

The gap-toothed one stopped and started to get his waterskin when the pockmarked one interrupted. “Don’t give her anything!”

“What's gonna happen? Her hands are still tied.” 

As they argued you could hear something in the distance, a kind of choked gargling as if someone was gasping for air.

“Um...excuse me?” you tried to ask, but they didn’t hear you over them arguing.

“That’s not the point, she’s a prisoner. And we don’t take demands from them,” the pockmarked one shouted.

“Well how are we supposed to interrogate her later if she passes out before we get to the checkpoint?” gap-tooth replied.

The choking noises were getting closer, in the distance, you see a figure, humanoid in shape with bluish skin.

“Gentlemen, I think something is watching us,” you said, louder this time.

“What? Where?”

“There through those trees.” You pointed towards where you saw the figure, but it was gone, though you heard more suffocated gasps from the left, closer than before. 

“Why are you listening to her?! I am the superior officer!” Pockmark shouted.

“Stop shouting! You’re attracting them!” you said.

“This is just some ruse for you to escape!” he said, grabbing you tightly around the back of your neck, you could see the depths of his scars his face was so close to yours. 

You could hear the choking ever more present now, almost like screams, and heavy footsteps with them. A rotten stench accompanied the sounds, so pungent your eyes stung. You knew something was coming for all you, and it was close. You looked to the other soldier, a ‘please’ in your eyes. He saw your plea, he turned his head and heard them too.

“Sir I think she's right we need to move,” he suggested sternly, covering his nose to avoid the acrid stench.

“I thought I told you I would be giving the orders here!”

Over the Pockmarks’ shoulder, you saw it, for only a second, before its claws were in Gaptooth. You tried to warn him, yelling “Look out!” but as he turned the claws were already in him. You screamed, watching in horror as black blood spurted from his mouth in a whimper, and even more gushed from his back and stomach, where the tips of the claws stuck out of his body. Gaptooth dropped to his knees, and you took in the frightful monster before you; sickly blue scaly skin, skinny legs with a large distended stomach, and milky white, empty eyes, with at least 5 more coming up behind it.

* * *

Geralt trotted along on Roach mindfully through the Mettina swamp, his thoughts on what might await him at Stygga Castle. Brehen, the current leader of the School of the Cat, was someone Geralt hoped to never clash swords with. A fearsome fighter, but ruled by his turbulent emotions. Why are they now returning to Stygga? 

As Geralt’s mind strayed, he heard voices and strange noises in the distance. He stopped and focused, trying to make out specific words. He only heard  _ “..erior officer”  _ before a scream a few moments later. He whipped Roach’s rein and she leapt into action.

* * *

Pockmark saw his comrade dissected in front of him, immediately dropped you and ran.

_ Fucking coward. _

The monster leapt towards you, its claws inches from your face, you kicked it hard, knocking it prone for a moment, giving you a chance to scramble to your feet and you start running for dear life, Pockmark only a few feet ahead. You turned to look and there were now 6 or 7 of these things chasing you both through the wet undergrowth. Fear gripped your heart, you didn’t know how long you could outrun these things. You dodged branches and vines as best as you could, hopping over fallen logs as you followed Pockmark, who was booking it through the forest.

You tried to keep your eyes on Pockmark, to keep you going, but you could he was getting further away. Your legs were tiring, your lungs were on fire, and you could feel the adrenaline leaving your body. You daren’t turn to look, you could feel their stench drowning you, their gargled screams echoing in your ears, you had to keep going, you had too. You turned to look, for a moment you saw the blue devils before you felt your world spin on its axis, and the ground rose up to hit you hard.

* * *

As Geralt rode closer he saw two people running. The first was a man in all black, no doubt a Nilfgaardian soldier, and a woman a few feet after, and behind them a swarm of drowners on the hunt. He watched as she tripped, the drowners closing in. He pulled his silver sword from his scabbard and whipped Roach’s reins once more.

* * *

As you hit the ground, you felt yourself gasping for air, the wind knocked out of you. A second later a clawed hand grasped your ankle, the monster digging its talons in an inch. You screamed in pain and turned to see those sickly ivory eyes and a mouthful of fangs snarl at you. You went to kick it with your other foot, its head ducked, his other clawed hand raised high above its head, ready to swing down on you.

_ Is this it? Has my luck finally run out? _

You closed your eyes and waited for the monster's strike. A screech, and something wet pouring over you. You opened your eyes to see that in fact you hadn’t been mauled by a blue water monster, but in fact, it had a shining sword sticking through its head, its greenish congealed blood pouring onto you. At the end of the sword was a black-gloved hand, attached to a muscular leathered arm, to a face with honed features, bright yellow eyes and white hair.

“Geralt?!” 

“(Y/N)?!”

More gargled screeching came from behind him, a swarm of beasts heading for you both. He swiftly pulled his sword out, splitting the beast in half in the process. “Run.” he commanded in a growl, and you didn’t need to be told twice. 

You got to your feet and started running. As you looked back you could see him adeptly fending them off, you’ve never seen a man so large move so quickly before, every lunge and swipe he seemed to dodge with ease as if this was a dance to him. Beasts were cut in half without warning, he swung his sword as if it was an extension of his arm, but more were coming, and even Geralt had to start retreating, the sheer volume of grotesque bodies seemed too much even for an indomitable witcher. You couldn’t tear your eyes away as one seemed to claw at him pretty good, and another, you heard him cry out in pain, though he tried to hide it. You soon realised you were running back towards him.

You pulled the other sword from his scabbard and swung down at the neck of the beast who had his claws in him, the head falling clean off. You really weren’t a good swordsman, especially with your hands still tied, but when you saw Geralt's bewildered expression, you were a bit pleased with yourself. You swung wildly again at the nearest beast, and the now unencumbered Geralt continued his surgical onslaught. Though you only managed to kill 2 or 3 and Geralt the rest of them, you felt satisfied.

You looked at Geralt with a smile on your face, but he was discontented.

“I thought I told you to run!” He snarled, cutting the rope off your wrists before storming off towards Roach.

“Gods! You are such a petulant prick. What about ‘thank you (Y/N) for killing that fishman’ or ‘how are you (Y/N) long time no see’?” you shouted back following him.

“What do you mean thank  _ you _ ? I just saved your life. For the second time, I might add.” 

“And then  _ I  _ came back to save you rather than let you get eaten by a fishman!”

“Drowner.”

“What?”

“They’re called ‘Drowners’, not ‘fishmen’ which you would know if you were trained to kill them, which you are not. You should’ve left me to deal with them.” As he reached his mare, his legs gave way for a moment before he caught himself on her saddle.

“Wait.. are you hurt?” you asked rushing over to look at him. He was clutching the side of his leg, his slightly face twisted in pain.

“I’m fine."

“Sure,” you said sarcastically, slapping his hand away. 

“I said I’m fine.” he snapped, moving his hand back. “I’m a witcher, I'll heal.”

“Will you shut up and let me look at it?!”

He conceded and moved his hand. More blood was draining out of him, and quite fast as well. As much as he got on your nerves, you really didn’t want him bleeding out on you. “Let's find somewhere to clean the wounds. C’mon.”

You both walked, (well Geralt limped) and soon found a fresh stream. He sat on a large rock near the water's edge while you found materials for stitching in one of Roach’s satchels. You tore the cut in his trousers wider to gain better access to his pulsating wound. You cleaned it well, but your stitching left a lot to be desired. Neither of you spoke as you patched him up, you could feel his stormy gaze on you, but you kept your head down and worked.

“I could’ve done a cleaner stitch,” he said, peering over your handiwork.

_ Gods this man really cannot say anything nice, can he? _

You shot a look at him and huffed, “Do you want me to continue or not?”

He said nothing in response, only a small smile, a smile that came when he wound you up. You returned to stitching up his leg.

“I thought your only skills were picking locks and getting into trouble,” Geralt asked.

“I have a few more tricks up my sleeves,” you said slyly.

“Who taught you?”

"My mother taught me. She was from a village even smaller than Burdoff,” you laugh. “It was basically a collection of small huts in a glade. She said ‘You had to know a bit of everything in a place like that’, removed from everyone, that ‘if you couldn’t fix it then you shouldn’t have it’. She taught us bits and pieces of what she knew; medicine, sewing, cooking, farming. She also knew how to hunt, what plants and berries were alright to eat, how to turn deer hide into leather. She was very resourceful.”

“She sounds it.”

“So that's why my stitches aren’t pretty, but they’ll stop your skin peeling off your leg.” You tied off the stitch and wrapped it in a bandage. 

Geralt stood up looking down at his leg. “Thank you,” he said rather gravely before walking back to Roach. 

“How’s your ankle?” 

You had completely forgotten that the Drowner had caught you there, you look down to see it had mostly stopped bleeding, but needed cleaning and a bandage. 

“Would you like me to...” Geralt trailed off, pointing at the bandages.

“No thanks I can stitch this up myself, it's not that bad anyway.” 

Once you had cleaned and dressed your wound, you followed him, returning your materials to the satchel you found them in. “So what are you doing all the way out here anyway? They’re not enough monsters to kill in the north?”

“I’m doing a favour for a friend.” Geralt said vaguely. 

“A friend would send you this far south into Nilfgaardian territory?”

“Why are  _ you  _ here?” he accused.

“Treasure-hunting.” you said with a small smile.

He chuckled, it was heavy and raucous, “So you’re moved from robbing the living to ‘treasure hunting?’ And whose treasure are you gonna discover?”

“Some mage called Alzur.” Geralt’s heart dropped for a moment. _How did she find out about this?_ _What is it she’s after there?_

You saw Geralt's face stiffen, his eyes widen “What is it?” you asked.

“You’re heading to Stygga Castle?”

“Yes... how did you know that’s where Alzur’s treasure is?”

“Because that's where I’m going.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Stygga Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and (Y/N) arrive at the dilapidated Stygga Castle, inside the rubble are bodies, secrets, and an unexpected occupant.

“You’re pulling my leg,” you say. “How can you also be after Alzur’s Keep?”

What are the chances of not only bumping into him like this but also going after the same madman’s hoard? You thought.

“A favour for a friend. There are rumoured to be Witcher artefacts there, stolen by Alzur,” Geralt lied, “I am to bring them back to Kaer Morhen.”

You eyed him carefully, suspicious that fate seems to have brought you together again.

“I must ask Geralt... do you have a problem with me raiding this abandoned castle?” You watched his reaction like a hawk.

“As long as you don’t take what I’m after, they can cause a lot of damage in the wrong hands.” 

His face was as stern as normal, his mask firmly on. You couldn’t tell if he was wearing for the purpose of deceiving you, or because he didn’t know how to take it off. A few Witcher artefacts weren’t what you were after anyway, and having a big scary witcher around would definitely keep you out of trouble like you were with those soldiers.

“Well then, I propose we travel together, seeing as you’ll need my protection,” you said facetiously, winking at him.

“How could I survive without you?” he said. 

* * *

Travelling with Geralt was less exciting than you expected. Firstly, he would not let you ride Roach, so you walked beside them. Secondly, he hardly spoke (and he never said much to begin with anyway). Trying to have a conversation with him was like pulling teeth, the next week or so travelling was going to be agony with this much silence between you. Thirdly, your nightmares kept you up all night. Each night you saw something that made you feel sick, or guilty or terrified. You often woke up in the dark, the embers of the fire the only light nearby. You’d get up and sit near Roach for a bit, stroking her nose. You prayed for the rest, but you remembered a saying your father used to say “you can’t lie down in the glade if you’re knee-deep in the mud.” Maybe peace would find you once this journey was over. You hoped.

After a few days travelling together, one night by the campfire, while Geralt was off finding dinner, you poured over the pages you stole from the mansion in Guleta. They were covered in symbols, drawings of ravens, and written in the most obtuse way. Some pages were multiple stories or theories of where the entrance to the keep was hidden, none of them matching up. Though you had been studying these papers every chance you got, still, not much seemed to make sense.

_‘As above so below’ ‘through the glass darkly’_  
 _‘The raven queen sat on a sycamore tree’_  
 _‘Reflect on the light...’_  
 _‘Ascend, ascend disciple and you will reach the depths of knowledge’_

_‘Light brings me to life, but darkness kills me.’_

Geralt returned with a handful of fish though you were too ingrained in the cryptic notes to notice him. 

“What are those papers you keep reading every night?” Geralt asked, sitting down on a log and skewering the fish on a sharpened stick.

“Information about Alzur, the castle, clues to the Keep, though I say ‘information’ it's more like one large obscure riddle.” 

‘How did you come by all this?”

“Thieving,” you said dryly, shooting him a look.

He grunted as he placed the fish near the fire.

“It was this mansion in Guleta, abandoned by its owner, I found a room full of pages like these hidden behind a bookcase.”

“Hmm.”

“Seem’s we’re not the only ones after Alzur’s riches.”

“Why come all this way for some gold anyway? Not enough pockets in Temeria?” Geralt asked cynically.

“I’m only after the big score these days Geralt.”

 _She must be really desperate for this haul_ Geralt thought. _How am I to tell her it must all be destroyed before Brehen gets his hands on it?_

You both mostly passed the rest evening in silence, a few words were exchanged here and there, eating the fish Geralt caught. You noticed you didn’t mind sharing the silence with him so much anymore. You settled into your bedroll, ready for another day with the surly witcher.

* * *

Geralt awoke in the night to the sound of murmuring. He turned to see (Y/N), tossing and turning in her bedroll, her face pulled into a frown.

“No......please...” she said in her sleep.

Geralt got up and silently crept over, making sure not to wake her. He kneels beside her, leans down, and brushes her unruly hair away from her sad face and whispers _axi_ i in her ear. Her face relaxes as her murmuring stops. He returns to his bedroll but keeps his eye on her for a few moments making sure she sleeps soundly, before turning over and going back to sleep himself. 

* * *

Geralt woke again to (Y/N)’s sleep-talk, “Maddy...... no..... no......”

_Another nightmare?_

With a grunt and sigh, he got up and walked over to her. He’s never seen her expression so pained, even in her sleep tears were falling from her eyes. He lay down beside her with her back to him, the scent of lemon, leather and sandalwood flooding his senses. It had been driving him crazy all week, how he couldn’t escape her earthy scent. He whispered _axii_ in her ear once again and (Y/N) settled a little, but her breathing was still ragged and strained, her body tense as if she was fighting something.

_What must be so horrid to be plaguing her like this?_

He placed his arm around her waist, and after a few minutes, she seemed to settle completely. Satisfied, Geralt began to slowly remove his arm from around her waist and get up, when (Y/N) rolled over and buried her face in his chest and began softly snoring. 

_Fuck._

Geralt was so thoroughly affected by this simple action he felt his heart race. He cannot remember the last time anyone felt so safe around him, or the last time anyone touched him so sweetly that he didn’t pay. He placed his arm around her one more time and waited for her to move away from him, but she didn’t, and he fell asleep holding her. 

* * *

You awoke feeling more rested than you had in weeks, your nightmares didn’t wake you last night. The sky was still dark, the birds had started singing with the rise of the sun. You got up out of your bedroll to see Geralt packing up Roach’s satchels.

“Morning,” you said cheerily.

“Morning magpie,” Geralt replied. There was something in his tone this morning that was different, almost pleasant. 

“Why do you call me that?” you sighed, putting your boots on.

“Because you’re always drawn to shiny things.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” You began packing up your things, ready for another long day of walking. 

“You seem in good spirits this morning.”

“Yeah... I slept well last night.”

“Good,” he said with a smile so small no-one would see.

Geralt darn’t bring up last night to save himself and (Y/N) the embarrassment, but also he felt awkward about asking (Y/N) about her nightmares. It seemed too private, and frankly, it was none of his business what she dreamt about. He hoped she would tell him, in her own time. 

Geralt walked over, took your things from out your hand and placed it amongst Roach’s satchels.

“What are you doing?”

Geralt swiftly climbed into the saddle, trotted over to you, and extended his hand. “We’ll be quicker if you rode with me, we’re not too far now.”

“Beats walking,” you said, taking his arm. He pulled you on with ease, you couldn’t feel him strain at all, it's as if you were as light as your bag. 

“Hold on,” Geralt said, his deep voice reverberating through you. You wrapped your arms loosely around his waist and were only half surprised to find it as firm as his arms. Suddenly, his hands grabbed your wrists and he pulled your arms tighter around him, till your hands clasped together. You were thankful he couldn’t see your face as it turned carmine. 

“Wouldn’t want you falling off now would we?” 

You could only muster an ‘uh-huh’ as a reply, as you rode off deeper into Nilfgaard, towards the ruined castle.

* * *

  
Slowly, the castle came into view, though it could be better described as a fortress. It was as if it was carved out of the mountainside itself, cold dark stone sat atop a precipice like a macabre wedding cake topper. It was surrounded by an endless chasm as a moat, a long, rotting, wooden bridge was the only way across and tree trunks carved into the spikes surrounded the base of the castle. The walls were mostly curved with archers-slits facing all directions, though what need would there be for them? How any army could storm this fortress is a feat of the gods. One of the castle walls had completely collapsed into the abyss below, moss, grass and a few small trees had taken root in amongst the rubbled stone. Tall thin spires seemed to arise from everywhere, one of which was completely caved in at the roof. It was a dark shadow nestled in the crook of the picturesque snowy mountains. It filled you with a sense of dread, though you dare not turn back, you had come too far. You closed your eyes and thought of the type of home you and Mattias would have. 

You reached the bridge, both climbed off Roach, and gathered your things, Geralt did the same. He petted her nose lovingly and told he’d be back soon. It was nice how much he liked his horse. Neither of you said a word as you took the first steps across the old bridge.

The wood creaked beneath your feet, but you chose to ignore it, keeping your eyes on the castle in front of you. It was so much bigger up close, you could spend weeks in this place looking for the Keep.

“What happened here? Why is it in ruins?” you asked.

“Alzur lived here with a dangerous splinter group of witchers. The Royal Army came in, placed it under siege for 3 days. Many died.”

“Very cheery.” 

You made your way to the front gate, Geralt thrust his shoulder into it a few times but it wouldn’t budge.

“Lemme find another way around,” you said looking for something to climb as you got out your trusty grappling hook. Above, the castle wall had caved in and an exposed beam hung out over the edge. You swung your hook over and it caught with ease, you gave a few hard tugs, making sure the beam wouldn’t fall and it stayed put. You placed your feet against the wall and began walking up the door. As you neared the top, you could feel the beam begin to loosen.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

You jumped and grabbed a hold of a ledge on the nearest archers-slit, just dodging the heavy wooden beam as it came falling down. 

“Look out!” you yelled to Geralt, but he was already well out of the way. The beam thankfully missed Geralt, but landed on the bridge, destroying about 10 to 20 feet, sending it plummeting below. 

_Shit. How are we going to get back?_

_Okay, one thing at a time, how do I get up to the top of the wall now?_

The arrows-slit was obviously too small to climb through. There was another above you, about 5ft, but nothing else to grab ahold of. You placed your feet firmly against the wall, focused your mind on the window above you, and pushed up with all your might. You caught the edge of the second arrow-slit and did the same to reach the top of the wall. You looked down at Geralt and gave him a thumbs-up, he only rolled his eyes.

As you beheld the room you saw a large rock, cradled in broken stone and wood that you assumed must have been catapulted through the wall during the siege Geralt described, causing this break in the outside wall. Everything else in the room was also broken, burnt, or covered in ivy and moss. You went through the small door and came out into a corridor above an entrance hall. You went down the elaborate marble staircase and lifted the bar off the front door, and opened it to let Geralt inside.

“Welcome to my humble home,” you joked, giving a solemn bow. 

“Your hook,” he said, handing you your beloved grappling hook.

You finally took in the grand hall you stood in, in all its dilapidated glory. The floor was an expensive tile covered in a layer of brown and black grime, dust clung to every surface, the paintings on the walls, their canvas had been ripped right out of the frame, and a cold eerie draft. But most of all what made this hall so grim were the bodies. As Geralt cast igni you could see them more clearly. Bones buried in the ivy and moss and stone as if consumed into the very castle itself, a few swords and shields lay about, but they seemed unused. Geralt paced over to an intact skeleton, lowered into a squat and studied. He pulled his sword from his scabbard, inspected it and slotted it back in. 

“He died hungry.”

You stared at the sorry corpse and wondered what they did to end here, alone. 

Geralt stood, “Anything in your special notes that tell us where to begin?”

“There’s a lot of mention of light and reflection and mirrors. If you can make sense of it, that’ll be great because it has stumped me.”

“Hmm,” was all he said.

* * *

You set off exploring the castle, its vastness is only matched by the cold air that seems to be permeating the castle walls in all rooms, corridors, servants quarters, and bedchambers. It felt closer than your own shirt as if some ghastly thing was breathing down your neck. You knew evil lives here, you just hadn’t found it yet.

You wandered the ruined castle with Geralt, the silence between you made the air feel thick. You observed over at him, how he moved like a great jungle cat studying its prey. You lost yourself in these thoughts, his quick, piercing, yellow eyes, almost phosphorescent in the dark, they found you, you turned away sharply, feeling your cheeks reddened again.

As you went deeper into the castle you started to get bored and frustrated, all these clues pointed to nothing, the riddles swirled in your head endlessly as you tried to connect the dots. You sighed as you pilfered through the dining room.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That’s the sixth time you’ve sighed in the last quarter of an hour,”

“No, I haven't I-”

“Shhh!” Geralt said, his head turning suddenly.

“You shhhh!” you spit back in a whisper. 

He glares at you and you stop.

You stop and listen, and you hear it, someone - a man- singing, rather badly you might add. Geralt said this place was abandoned, so what else might be lurking here? Geralt unsheathes his sword, and as silent as a small breeze, he walked towards the singing, you soundlessly tiptoed behind, one of your knives firm in your grasp.

You both reach a small hidden servants door, slightly ajar, and from which the singing was emanating, a few steps away. You look at Geralt waiting to strike, he nods in reply. He swings open the door and you leapt into the room, pouncing immediately; your leg swiped at the singer's ankles, his legs buckled as you pushed down on his shoulders, pinning him to the floor, your knees on his chest, your knife to his neck. 

Beneath you is an extremely attractive man, warm brown skin which looked ochre in the firelight, a mess of mid-length pitch-black hair atop his head with a moustache and chin scruff to match. He had a slit in his eyebrow caused by a small scar, and his eyes -sweet gods his eyes - a shade of deep umber intensified with a sliver of black kohl, looking into them felt like looking down a waterfall at night, you felt yourself being pulled in for a moment. He smiled, and then you smelt aged wine on his breath, and you were pulled back to reality.

“What a pleasant surprise. I’ve finally cracked and dreamt up an imaginary woman. Shame she’s here to kill me,” the drunk singing man said.

“I can assure you, sir, I am real,” you said with a smile on your lips. “But I may kill you yet if you don’t tell me who you are,” you threatened, pressing the knife closer on his neck.

He eyed you for a moment, confused as if he didn’t believe you. His hand clasped around yours, his thumb rubbing softly against you, feeling the warmth of your skin. You felt your breath catch in your throat.

“You are real, aren’t you?” he asked ardently, looking at his hand in yours, then searching your face. 

“Very much so,” you assured him. The fire burning in the fireplace suddenly felt closer. 

“I’m no threat, I promise, look, I am unarmed. Please, let me up.”

You eye him for a moment and decide a man this tipsy would be easy to take down again if need be. You stand up, a circle around him back to Geralt. The man stands up, dusts himself off and looks up. His eyes widened in shock.

“Geralt?!”

“Vilgefortz?!” Geralt replies in equal shock, sheathing his sword.

“Wait you know this guy?” you ask Geralt.

“Sadly.” he replies dryly.

Vilgefortz rushes up to him and shakes his hand energetically, which you can tell Geralt is hating. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Could ask you the same thing.” Geralt asks, picking up one of the many empty wine bottles scattered across the room.

“I’ve made a nice little hideout here,” Vilgefortz replies, signalling to the kitchen you found yourself standing in. “I thought to myself ‘Vilgefortz, where's the last place those bastard Nilfgaardians are going to look for me? Right under their very noses.’ So that's what I did. Though I must admit I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here and well... I may have started talking to myself and raiding the wine cellar. But now that I have captivating company..” he trails off as he turns to you, he takes your hand and places a soft kiss there. “Vilgefortz of Roggeveen, a former mercenary and current mage, the pleasure is all mine. Please call me Vee.”

“(Y/N) of Burdoff, pickpocket, burglar and fence.”

“Good with your fingers then?” he said, a seductive smile on his face, his voice like honey.

“If you’re quite done,” Geralt interrupted annoyedly. “You might be able to help us with something. How much do you know about Alzur?”

* * *

Vilgefortz seemed to sober up quite quickly and joined you and Geralt on your hunt for Alzur’s hidden keep. He gave you a tour of what you hadn’t seen of the castle. He spoke to you, in particular, a fair amount, asked you questions about Burdoff, your family, your life. His voice, mellow and bright was a nice change of pace from Geralt’s surly silences. You enjoyed your conversation with him as you wandered the dilapidated castle. His smile was as sweet as his voice, you liked when you made him laugh, it was raucous and hearty, he seemed joyous in his temperament and wise in youth. When he gazed at you, it felt like a dare, that looking away meant defeat, so you gazed at him back, and you enjoyed what you saw. Every now and then, Geralt would grunt to remind you both he was there during this tennis match of flirting. He occasionally glared at you when you caught his eye, but you ignored him. He almost acted like a toddler when he wasn’t happy storming ahead of you two.

As you continued to explore and search the castle, you passed a small spiralling staircase, carved on the first step was a raven sitting on a tree. You stopped and looked at it, wondering why it seemed important to you. You started pulling out all of your notes, scrambling to find the phrase that was lodged in your head.

Geralt and Vilgefortz stopped and turned to look at you on the floor, spreading out your notes frantically.

“What are you looking for?” Vilgefortz asked.

“That carving, of the raven on the tree, I’ve seen it mentioned somewhere in these papers before... Where does this staircase lead anyway Vee?” you said continuing to rifle through.

“I haven’t made it to the top of this tower, the staircase caves in about halfway up.”

“Here it is! The raven queen sat on a sycamore tree,” you exclaimed.

“The Raven Queen is Morrigan, patron of magic, war, and phantoms,” Geralt said thoughtfully.

“And here! _‘Ascend, ascend disciple and you will reach the depths of knowledge.’_ I think this carving is a sign, leading the way to ‘magic’, I mean why put it at the bottom of a staircase if not to _‘ascend to the depths of knowledge'_ ”.

“I think she might have cracked it Geralt. However, the stairs remember?”

“I’ll find a way up.” You gathered your notes and started to climb. 

“No I’m serious (Y/N) it's a huge gap!” Vilgefortz called up the staircase, but you were already a few flights up. 

“She won’t listen. She never does.” Geralt said bitterly and began to follow you.

You climbed the spiralling stone staircase, and more and more rubbled stone started to block your path. As you reached higher, you came to the cave in, another huge stone had been launched into the wall during the siege, leaving a massive hole in the wall and the staircase had collapsed inwards. You managed to climb over the rubbled stone to the edge where the stairs had fallen in. There were about 10 missing steps, and with the curvature of the tower, it’d be impossible to jump. You poked your head out of the disintegrated out wall, and caught the magnificent view, the smell of pine on the strong wind, the colossal white mountains dusted with trees at its base. You thought about getting yourself a view like this. You looked around at the outside wall, and there was a window, smashed in.

_Perfect._

You could hear Geralt and Vilgefortz climbing over the rubble behind you, but you couldn’t wait, you swung your hook and managed to get it into the window sill. You tied the end of the rope around your waist and turned to look behind you to see Vilgefortz climbing his way up, his expression uneasy.

“See you at the top,” you winked before you jumped out into the open air.

“Wait!” he called out, but you were gone, over the edge. He scrambled to the edge and peered over to see you hanging there, feet planted against the wall, your hands behind your head, as if you were lying in bed.

“You looked worried, Vee.”

He laughs in relief, “Yeah...yeah I was.”

You grab the rope and start climbing, Vilgefortz watched you in awe. You made it to the window and climbed through, you were now on the upper part of the staircase. You walked down to the edge to see Geralt and Vilgefortz standing there.

“You gonna help us up?” You heard Geralt call impatiently.

“I don’t think I could lift your tree trunk of a body Geralt without causing serious injury.”

“We had a deal.” he threatened. If the treasure is up there I cannot let her get it alone Geralt thought. 

“Okay fineeee,” you pulled the rope inside the tower and threw it over to them. “You can pull yourself up though.” And you continued up the tower. 

You came to a large wooden door with the same raven on a tree etched into it. You found it to be unlocked, so you stepped inside. It was a study, no doubt Alzur’s. In the centre of the octagonal room was the same raven symbol in parquet on the floor, there was large oak desk now infested with woodworm, and cold fireplace equipped with a cauldron and smashed empty vials strewn in the ash, and stacks of books everywhere, no shelves or organisation, just piles and piles of dusty tomes filled the room as if poured into the room like water. But no treasure.

_Shit._

You began tearing the room apart, searching the drawers of the desk, digging in the pile of books, looking for a secret switch in the walls and fireplace, but nothing, nothing here indicated that the treasure was here, or had ever been here.

_You fool. What made you think you could find it? There are many clever mages and thieves and literally, anyone else would’ve found it by now. But no, you had to drag yourself across the Continent for something buried in riddles. Stupid._

Geralt and Vilgefortz entered the room, a few minutes after you, seeing you sitting in the middle of a pile of books, deflated.

“It’s not here,” you said defeated.

Thank the gods Geralt thought. He had been uneasy since the moment you bolted up the stairs.

“Sweet Melitele, this must be the wizard's study. Certainly resembles my own at times,” Vilgefortz said flicking through some books. When you didn’t get up or say anything, he knelt down beside you, placed his hand on your back, you stared at him feeling broken. He gave you a warm reassuring smile.

“Do you wanna get drunk?”

“Gods yes,” you replied. He held out his hand, you took it, and he helped you up. His hand lingered in yours, and you enjoyed its company.

“Coming Geralt?” Vilgefortz asked.

“Someone should stay and sort through these books, there may be a clue to where the Keep is hidden.” In truth, he hoped it would give him an advance on finding it before you did, and frankly, he was sick of seeing you make eyes at Vilgefortz: _H_ _ow could she? Vilgefortz was a sleazy and overly ambitious mage who’d sooner sell out his own mother for a chance at power, and here (Y/N) is, falling for his silver tongue?_

You and Vilgefortz managed to make it back down the stairs without any injury and went back to the kitchen and down some stairs into the wine cellar. Vilgefortz lit the torches around the room with _igni_ , it was as large as the foyer and filled barrels the size of houses, laced with shelves upon shelves of wine bottles, cabinets full of broken and dusty glasses, and simple wooden table and chairs in the centre.

“Welcome to my favourite room in this godforsaken place,” he said dramatically. You sat on the edge of the table, your feet on a chair, and you watched as he went over to one of the shelves, picked up a bottle of wine, blew the dust off it, examined it and once satisfied, found a bottle opener and began to pull out the cork.

“I think this one will do nicely,” he said cheerfully, going to the glass cabinet.

You didn’t reply, still gutted about your lack of a find. He stood in front of you, poured the wine, and handed you a glass.

“This treasure is that important to you huh?”

“Not this treasure, in particular, I just....”

“Just what?”

“I just want to be free of worry. To make sure my brother never has to worry again, and this hoard.. this hidden treasure could set us up for a long time.” You took a sip, and it was delicious. 

“The freedom to be comfortable.”

“Exactly.”

“To enjoy the finer things,” he said, taking a sip off the wine.

“It is good wine,”

“I do however love the things money cannot buy. I find that I feel richest when in pleasurable company,” he said, taking a step closer, his eyes daring you to look away again, his voice like a deep lullaby. 

“Oh really? I’m sure many men have paid for pleasurable company,” you retorted.

“Well yes of course, but paying for that kind of company is not what I meant.”

“Oh sureeeee.” you laughed. 

“I’m serious, what I meant to say is... I’ve been holed up all alone in the godsforsaken place for a while now, and I- I missed the sound of people talking, of laughter. Hearing your laugh today... kept me a bit sane. It was like hearing... like hearing church bells.”

Your heartbeat so loudly in your chest you thought it might pop out. You laughed a little, looking at your shoes in embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry, that was a bit saccharine wasn’t it?” he said disparagingly. He rubbed his neck in embarrassment, his sheepish expression only made him more endearing.

Without taking your eyes off him, you put your glass down on the table, kicked the chair away from you, placed your hands on his firm shoulders, and pulled him in. Your lips met, and you kissed him fervorously. You felt him release all his nervousness as his body sank into yours, his torso between your legs as you sat on the table. His lips replied to your kiss in kind. 

You heard smashing glass- Vilgefortz dropped his glass to the floor without a thought, the only thing on his mind was feeling you, all of you in his hands. He grabbed your hips roughly and pulled you in again for a deeper impassioned kiss. Your hands tangled in his hair as you felt his tongue against your lips. You widened your mouth to let him in, you could taste the wine even more and it made you dizzy. The knot in your stomach twisted and tightened. He was so close now, his hands running up your back, ass, and thighs. 

A desperate moan escaped your lips as your bodies were now flushed against each other, your legs wrapped his waist in a frenzied attempt for more friction. His rapt kisses trailed from your lips to your neck, one hand squeezing your ass, resting gently on the side of your face. He teeth bit and scraped under your jaw, leaving you keening under him. He left a wet hot trail of suckling bruises from your jaw to collar bone, another desperate whimper erupted from your chest. Your legs tightened around his waist and you felt his erection press hard into your now throbbing pussy, your clothes barring you from pleasure.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him. You started pulling the laces of his trousers. He started undoing the laces of your corset and stripping you of your black cotton shirt, freeing your chest into his rough palms. You thrust your hand down the front of his trousers, gripping his horn, he let out a stuttered moan as you started pumping. The sound of him groaning only made you wetter, you needed to hear more. 

“Dear gods (Y/N)...” he continued to moan each time you brought your thumb over his head as you pumped your hand up and down.

“Yes?” you asked a quirk in your eyebrow. It had been a while since you found yourself in this kinda trouble, and you enjoyed making boys squirm, you were gonna savour having this man writhe against you.

He grabs your wrist, staring at you with an indignant look in his dark eyes, “If you keep doing that I’m gonna come pretty soon.”

You pushed his hand away, “That’s the idea,” you whispered in his ear, before taking his earlobe in between your teeth, and sucked. You felt him shudder against you. You pulled away from his ear and moved to the crook of his neck, and sucked hard again, another glorious deep groan emanated from his broad chest. 

“Fuccckk..... (Y/N) please....... I-”

You weren’t gonna give him any grace. He was begging you not to make him break, while you were daring him to last as long as he could. 

“(Y/N)... I- I- I’m go-”

A guttural groan escaped his perfect lips in your skin as he buried his face into your shoulder, you felt his body stiffen against you as his white-hot seed released in your hands. You didn’t take your eyes off him as he came undone. His face contorting in delicious ecstasy drove you wild, you loved the rush of conquering a gorgeous man like that. You finally released your grip, and Vee continued to breathe heavily into your shoulder. He gazed at you, stunned silent for the first time since you met him. 

“I think I was right the first time. You really are unreal.” His hand caressed your cheek and pulled you into a kiss, this one, was deep, tender and sweet. “Fucking hell. All that only after one sip of wine” Vilgefortz laughed.

“We still have the whole bottle to go,” you said, swishing the bottle, eyeing him up, thinking about where his hands might go in return.

“You’re gonna have to gimme a minute,” he walked off to clean up and regain his stamina. You leaned back on the table, pleased that you still had the knack. 

You went to get Vee another glass, and returned to the bottle on the table, as you poured, you heard dripping as if it was echoing in the room. You searched for the source of the sound and looked down to where Vee’s glass had smashed on the stone ground. You placed your ear to the floor and could hear the wine drip echoing below the floor. 

“Vee?”

“Yes?”

“Is this the lowest point of the castle?”

“I think so why?”

“There’s echoing beneath us. Could be a hidden room.” You leapt up from the floor, grabbed one of the torches off the wall and began searching the vast wine cellar for an entrance.

“Do you-” he sighed. “Do you have to do this right now? I mean my cock isn’t even back in my trousers and you’re running off - Hey!” he said readjusting himself and lacing his trousers back up.

You weren’t listening as you began pulling the ridiculously heavy barrels of wine out the way, searching for a sign, for anything. 

“Can this not just wait till morning? The Keep isn’t going anywhere.”

You didn’t reply.

“(Y/N)? Hello? Fucking hell woman!”

“Gods Vilgefortz I can always fuck you later okay?”

“Now that’s not what I meant I-”

“You what?” you spun around to face him, your expression scornful. You saw his hurt expression and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to snap.” you pressed up against him and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Once we find this treasure you can fuck me all night long.”

He sighed, and kissed you again, humming in satisfaction, “Fine, let's find something.”

“Thank you.”

“You are an odd one, never known a woman to turn down my services for money,”

“Well, the women you know clearly don’t have their priorities in order. Money should always come before men.” Vee laughed, and you smiled.

You both searched high and low for a sign, pulling out all the barrels, moving the shelves, when finally there it was, hidden under a barrel, matching the one in the tower, exactly: a raven perched on a tree, carved into a wooden door in the floor. 

_As above so below._


	7. Alzur's Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, (Y/N) and Vilgefortz delve deeper into the puzzling Stygga Castle. Will Alzur's trail bring them closer or tear them apart.

You ran back to the table, picked up one of the chairs and began smashing it into the wooden door in the floor. One the legs of the chair broke, but still, you kept pounding away at the wood, until finally, one panel caved in. A cold, pale blue light poured out into the wine cellar. You laughed in shock and joy.

 _I was right. I found it. I actually did it_. 

You threw your arms around Vilgefortz, “We found it!”

“You found it (Y/N),” he asserted. 

“I’ll go get Geralt, you continue prying this door open.”

* * *

Geralt’s eyes were getting dizzy looking at all these dusty tomes, he hadn’t had to do this much reading in one sitting since his lessons with Vesemir in his youth. He heard steps coming up the stairs, they stopped, and a voice called out his name. His heart quickened when he realised it was (Y/N) calling for him to come down. He got up and went down the stairs to the cave-in.

“Geralt, I found a hidden door! It had the raven on it and I-”

 _Fuck._ He was hoping to find the location of the Keep hidden in amongst the tomes, and steer (Y/N) clear of it. He didn’t know how to tell her, he had to somehow destroy it all.

“Alright I’m coming,” he said with a feigned sigh as he climbed down the rope, and unhooked the grapple. (Y/N) was already running back down the stairs like a giddy child. He smiled to himself, he’d never seen her this excited, and then the guilt set in, he knew he had to dash her dreams of the treasure away, but she is not easily deterred. 

He followed the echoes of her footsteps and the wavering trail of her scent, which now had become a comfort to him, though he would never admit it, even to himself. As Geralt descended into the wine cellar, both Vilgefortz and (Y/N) were bashing in a wooden door set in the floor. Then he noticed it - a string of purple bruises strung across her neck like sinful pearls, her corset laces loosened, Vilgefortz’s trousers to match. His mind began to run wild, how Vilgefortz’s hands touched her, how she touched him. A horrible feeling stirred in Geralt, a rage, a disgust, a sadness. 

* * *

With a few final pushes, you and Vilgefortz managed to break through the door completely, revealing a stone staircase spiralling down further into the ethereal blue light. You turned to look at Geralt, to share this moment, but his face was full of resentment, he looked at you as if you’d kicked him in the balls. 

“Why such the sour puss?” you teased. “Aren’t you pleased we found it?”

He barged past you with a grunt, took a torch out of the sconce on the wall and began walking down the staircase.

“After you then,” you said sarcastically.

Vee looked at you with a quizzical eyebrow, _What's up with him?_ his eyebrow asked.

You shrugged in response, though the fact that you didn’t know the answer bothered you. Geralt was not the easiest to read, everything he felt was buried under moodiness and a bad temper, but you’d thought he’d at least be happy to be one step closer to the Keep.

Still, in the excitement of the hidden door you refused to let Geralt’s sourness ruin your mood, eager to see where this secret entrance led, you followed the winding staircase down, Vilgefortz happily walking behind you. Your heart leapt in your chest as you descended further, you felt your palms clam up as excitement and anticipation swept through your trembling body. You felt the streak of lightning spearing your body in two. Your mind wandered to mountains of gold and jewels and the home you could buy for Matthias with it. As you wandered down, gripped with impatience, you saw what was creating the ghostly blue light. The torches on the wall, instead of burning with a red flame, they burned with a cold blue one, like a plume of ice. You placed your hand in, and it was freezing. Even Vilgefortz seemed mesmerised by the magick blue fire. 

As you reached the bottom, you found a room near the exact same in shape and design as the study at the top of the spire. This time the raven symbol at the centre of the octagon was etched in stone rather than laid in the parquet. There was no fireplace, but another large desk and masses of books, this time still on their shelves which covered half of the walls. But no treasure. Opposite the shelves was an alchemist’s table with an ornate gilded wall-length mirror behind it and more shelves, but instead of books, there were jars. You moved over to inspect them, inside looked to be the remains of humans, and even worse- You couldn’t look, but you couldn’t look away. In a large in the centre of one of the shelves, a baby. But not a human baby, something demonic in nature, sickly white skin, large black soulless eyes still open, and razor-sharp teeth.

“This must be where Alzur made his monsters,” Vee said from behind you. He put a hand on your shoulder. You placed your hand on his. It was warm, and that comforted you.

“Right. Let’s get on.” You looked away back to the room, hoping to forget the beast in the jar and find something to lead you further on the trail. 

Geralt stood leaning over the table, pouring over another tome, brooding in complete silence. You began searching this secretive laboratory for more clues, the books, Alzur’s desk, but nothing. Half an hour passed and nothing. You and Vilgerfortz shared a few jokes here and there, but Geralt said nothing, even when you spoke to him, not even a grunt or a “Hmm” in response. After another half an hour you sighed in agitation.

“The treasure isn't here (Y/N). Just give up,” Geralt snapped, throwing his book across the room.

“No. It’s here. I know it. It has to be.”

“Why? Because you read a few madman’s scribbles you think you can crack this great mystery. Forget it. You’re just a thief.” There was a bitterness, a disdain, in his voice that shocked you. As he looked at you, there was no warmth in his bright eyes, they were as cold as the blue flames. Whatever had put him in a foul mood was no reason for this bullshit, you weren’t having it. 

“Between the three of us, we’ve scoured every inch of this godsforesaken castle and this dungeon that _I_ found is the only lead we have. I’m not giving up Geralt. You can go wait outside with Roach if you want to give up.” You said dismissively as you turned back to the alchemist’s table. 

In the corner of your eye, you saw Geralt in the reflection of the mirror, his body was as pent up as a rabid dog, hot air puffing out his nose and ears, looking for something to throw at you. He stormed off, like a teenage girl in a huff and you let out a little scoff at him. You gazed into the mirror. Your face was dirty with dust and soot, your hair messier than normal. You noticed a bit of your corset lacing was still undone, so you pulled them together, looking at Vilgefortz, who was so engrossed in Alzur’s journals he barely noticed Geralt storming off. You looked up again, fixing your hair when something else in the reflection, caught your eye, or rather the lack of something. In the mirror, there was a gap in the bookshelf, you turned back to look at the shelf, but couldn’t see the gap. You took a step back, looked in the mirror and over your shoulder once again. The gap was in the reflection, but not in the bookshelf itself. Was it a trick of the light?

“Vee?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Do me a favour and put all those journals back exactly where you found them.”

“What? Why?” he said forlornly, clearing engrossed in this mysterious Alzur’s personal notes.

“Please, just humour me for a second.” He did as you asked, and there was still a gap in the mirror. 

“What’s all this about?” he asked.

“Come stand here a second,”

He reluctantly came and stood beside you, gazing into the mirror.

“You look lovely,” he said, his hand creeping around your waist.

You slapped his shoulder playfully. “Stop it! This serious. Do you see that gap in the shelf? Where a book should be?” you said pointing to the mirror.

“Yes. What’s your point?”

“Okay now turn to look at the shelf.”

A moment passed.

“Where's the missing book?”

“Exactly. ‘Kay stay there, a second, and keep looking at the mirror,” you ordered as you raced over to the shelf.

“Tell me when my hand is over the gap.”

“Okay okay.”

You kept one eye on the mirror and one on the books, each spine was as unique as the last, some bound in vibrant leathers, others in old bark, other in rich velvets and satins. 

“Stop!” It's that book,” Vee called out.

You looked to where your hand was hovering. The book spine was unremarkable, a dulled brown leather. As your fingers traced the spine you felt an indent. You peered closer, a symbol of a raven.

 _At least this Alzur is consistent_.

You pulled the book, and the mirror opened.

_Through the glass darkly..._

* * *

Geralt was pacing back and forth on the staircase to the wine cellar when a loud metallic churning sound echoed up the stairs. He raced back down the stairs to see the ornate mirror ajar, revealing a shadowy corridor. In front of it with torches of blue light in hand stood Vilgefortz and (Y/N).

“Are you coming or not?” She asked defiantly, clearly still annoyed about his earlier outburst. Geralt charged towards her, snatched the torch from her hand and set off into the dark, followed by (Y/N) then Vilgefortz.

* * *

The dark corridor continued in a straight line for turning down even more stairs, illuminated only by the blue flame. You walked for what felt like an hour, the pattern of the corridor now clear to you. You’d walk about 30 feet, before coming to a staircase that turned a corner, and repeated. So far you guess you were about 20 levels below the laboratory, with no end in sight. You felt the ache in your feet again, the soreness of your body increasing with the waning adrenaline. 

As you stepped, you felt a stone in the floor sink beneath your foot. Geralt’s eyes darted in panic, looked up to the sound of grinding of gears, and pulled you towards him as a heavy portcullis adorned with skulls and bones of previous adventurers dropped where you were just standing. It dropped so quickly you would’ve been crushed in an instant. You looked up to see Geralt’s face, his hard expression worn into worry, his arms firmly around you, your chests pressed together so tight you could feel the slow beat of his heart. 

You wiggled free, “I’m okay you assured.”

“Sorry I-”

“No thank you, I would’ve been a potato-cake,” you laughed awkwardly.

“Well, this is fun.” You heard from the other side of the bars. Vilgefortz.

“Fuck!” you said running back to the bars, trying to shake them loose, but no dice. “How are we going to get back out?”

“Listen don’t let me hold you up, I’ll make short work of this.”

“No, we can’t leave-”

Vilgefortz placed his hand on yours, that warmth comforted you again, “I’ll be fine, anyway, I’d rather be on this side,” he joked looking at Geralt. “Just being me back something while I work on getting you guys out.”

“Okay,” you said reluctantly, you squeezed his hand before turning- Suddenly Geralt had you by the arm, dragging you away from the gate.

“Let’s go,” he said angrily.

“Hey! What the fuck?! Let go of me!” But he wouldn’t, he kept dragging you down the corridor, your protests falling on deaf ears, your feet sliding over the stone as you tried to fight him. Finally, you managed to squirm out of his tight grip. “What the fuck is your problem Geralt?!”

“I wanna find this treasure and get out of this place,” Geralt said storming off down the dark corridor and turning the corner down the stairs, not even turning to look at you.

“That's a crock of shit and you know it.” You said stomping after him. “One minute you save me from death and the next you're acting a tyrant.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t drooling after Vilgefortz like a desperate little girl,” he shouted back, still not looking at you.

“Desperate?!” You knew he struggled to be polite but this was a personal attack. You grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around to face you. “And what do you know about me and him anyway?!” 

“Oh please as if it isn’t obvious.” He said signalling to your neck. You didn’t even think about the lovebites since you found the door under the wine barrel, your hand covered your neck instinctively. 

Geralt continued, “You’ve known him what? A day or two? And you’re already sleeping with him?” he started back down the stairs.

“Hey! We didn’t even sleep together,” You rushed and stood in front of him, “And why is it your business who I sleep with anyway?”

“He’s not to be trusted (Y/N) can’t you see that? I thought you were smarter than that.” He said solemnly as he brushed past you down the stairs and along the next corridor.

“Sleeping with someone and trusting them are two different things Geralt. And that doesn’t answer my question Geralt.” You said blocking his path once more. “Why is it your business?” You stared at his sullen and bitter face, waiting for his answer, but none came. 

He looked at her, her scrunched up eyebrows, her flaring nostrils, her wide eyes staring angrily at him, waiting for an answer, an explanation for his callous words. Geralt tried to speak, but he felt his voice choke up. Finally, something escaped, “I-”

“ ‘I’ what Geralt?” you snapped back, crossing your arms. He looked flustered, and that surprised you, though it still did not remedy how rude had just been. 

_Why is this feeling in my stomach so ugly? How is she paralyzing me like this?_ He was shocked at how dumbfounded she made him, and that loathsome pit swirling in his stomach only angered Geralt more. 

“You know, sometimes I hate you, (Y/N). No, not hate. Despise.”

He watched the hurt flood her expression, and it killed him but she’s with him anyway. _It’ll be easier if she hates me._

“I hate you especially when you’re acting like a whore for that cheap magician,” he spat. 

“You know what Geralt? If I was a whore...you could never...ever... afford me.” you spat back, your finger poking his chest with every word. 

“You know, you can act like you’re better than all of the other criminals out there, that you have a code, but you don’t. And I’d rather share a bed with a striga than spend another minute with some twisted, messed up, dirty, rotten thieving bitch like you.” The words tumbled out his mouth, he couldn’t stop himself. He knew he was digging his grave, but he didn’t mind. It would be better than seeing you with him.

Your hand flew across his stony face, the clap of the collision echoing down the gloomy corridor, Geralt barely flinching.

“Do you feel better now?”

You thought for a moment. “No.” You punched him, hard. Even Geralt looked surprised as your knuckles caught him square in the nose.

“Better now,” you said defiantly as you took the torch from his hand, turned and continued your journey into the depths of the castle. 

* * *

The next 15 minutes passed in agonising silence, Geralt walking a few paces behind you. You were so appalled by what Geralt said to you, you couldn’t even look at him. You wanted to scream at him, hit him, you even considered stabbing him.

 _How could he be so cruel?_ Did you think you two might be friends? Colleagues? Something, you hoped. All you knew is you worked well together and you enjoyed his company the last few weeks, but clearly, you were wrong. He hated you, despised you. _As soon as this is over I’m never going to have to see him again_. You kept that, and thoughts of Matthias in the front of your mind as you marched on. 

After a few more minutes, you heard crunching under your feet. You lowered your torch- bones. Dusty and brittle with age, a sombre reminder of those who did not make it any further. You decided to tread more carefully. The bones poured out into a wide cavern, tall walls of obsidian stone with icy stalactites dripping from the ceiling. The dark felt so oppressive, so heavy it was as if the torch started flickering out of fear. You wandered towards the centre of this abundant darkness and found only a large pile of stone. 

“(Y/N)!” Geralt whisper-shouted at you.

“What?” you snapped and your regular volume.

“Step.. away. Slowly.” He was walking towards you on his tiptoes, he hands slowly beckoning you closer.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Geralt its just a rock...” You turned back and saw it. A cold blue eye staring at you out of the stone, the same colour as the blue flame. The mound stood up to, its feet like anvils, its hands like giant maces and no semblance of a face save for the cold blue eye in its centre. Etched all over the arms, legs and torso were markings which began to glow with the same ghostly blue light as its eye. You begin to back away, transfixed by the hulking mass of rock towering above you, illuminated by its own spectral light and the flickering torch in your own hand. It was a beast of legend and terror - a golem.

Its huge right hand raised and came down heavy - you dodged and rolled left out the way, its left hand came down - you dodged again, barely managing to stay out of the giant golems reach with each slam into the ground. Geralt ran up behind the monstrosity, his silver sword bouncing off the golem-like rain on a leather sheet.

“Maybe now is not a good time for the sword?”

“You have a better idea?”

You didn’t. You looked about while dodging and weaving, there was nothing here, just the golem waiting for the greedy treasure hunter to fall within reach of its battering ram arms. Then an idea struck you - the stalactites. You looked towards Geralt who was still swinging mindlessly at the golem, a few pieces of rock had chipped off his right leg, but nothing more.

“Geralt!” you pointed upwards towards the icy spires - the golem struck you. You were flying towards the wall unaware of how it happened, the wall hit you, and you fell to the floor, gasping for air. You definitely had a few broken ribs. The golem started towards you-

_Fuck. Get up (Y/N)._

But you couldn’t get up, the wind completely knocked out of you.

_Get up! GET THE FUCK UP (Y/N)!_

One knee raised, your foot touched the floor. The golem came closer and closer. You pushed on your leg, trying to stand, but your head was spinning, you wobbled and fell back down onto your knees. You felt the ground shake with each of the golem's steps, your death stepping closer to you.

_This is it._

You closed your eyes and waited.

“Come on! Come here you great ugly thing!” Geralt shouted, gaining the golem's attention, giving you a moment to catch your breath and regain your balance. 

The golem swung- Geralt ducked under, perfectly evading him with his dancer-like footwork. 

You looked up to the stalactites trying to find a sturdy looking one, but not too thick. You swung your grappling hook up, up, up, up and it caught. You pulled yourself up as quickly as you could, but gods did it hurt. Your ribs creaked with every pull. Once you reached it, you pulled one of your knives out, and stuck it into the ice as a grip, and wrapped your legs around it and climbed as high as you could. You looked below to see Geralt continually dodging the golem's attacks, but he barely got a moment’s reprieve. For a literal lump of rock brought to life, this thing was quick. Using your knives you did your best to chip away at the ice in a horizontal line. You circled around the other side of the stalactites and did the same.

You heard a loud grunt from below - Geralt had been tossed like a ragdoll by the golem, which was now charging for another attack. 

“Look out!” You called, Geralt looked up in time, rolled out the way and got to his feet. 

“What the fuck are you doing up there?”

“Just get that thing underneath me!”

You couldn’t just chip away at this thing forever, Geralt was slowing and this golem was not. You wrapped your hook tightly around the top of the stalactite, and the other end of the rope around your waist. What you were about to do was very very stupid but it may be the only way to kill this thing. You placed your feet firmly against the speared ice, bent your knees, jumped, and landed heavily - scorching pain rocked through your ribs, but you jumped again. The stalactite didn’t move.

“Whatever your plan is, hurry up!” Geralt shouted before being tossed again by the golem.

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

You pushed off stronger, swung higher and landed harder, ignoring the pain in your chest. You heard a creak from the ice beneath you. You jumped again, and the line you had carved started to crack into the rest of the stalactite, it was working, it was breaking!

“Geralt! Get him here!”

You swung again, and again, the crack getting bigger each time your feet landed against the ice. Geralt started rolling till he was directly under the stalactite.

“C’mon you ugly fucker!” he yelled. The golem started to charge him.

The ice broke.

Geralt rolled out of the way, the stalactite fell with lightning speed and speared the golem from the top of his head, through his heart and a good 12 inches into the ground of the cavern. 

“WoooohoOO!” you cheered as you lowered yourself down as far as you could before dropping to the floor. You went to hug Geralt in celebration but you stopped yourself, _you’re still mad at him,_ _remember?_

The golem twitched and tried to struggle to get you and Geralt, but the light in its eye and in the runes etched on it began to flicker and fade, till it was completely dark and the monster was still. Geralt stabbed his sword through the golem's torso again and again, and again till he pulled out the heart. The body and heart of the golem burst into blue light and then evaporated into dust. Left in the pile of dust in Geralt's hand was a key.

_But where’s the door?_

As you finished that thought, a large cracking sound bounced off the cavern walls, as if it was being chipped away at. You picked up the torch and followed the sound. In the cave wall, a door appeared as if carved out with a hammer and chisel, including a keyhole. Geralt looked to you, you nodded, and he placed the key in the stone door, and turned.

It clicked. 

The doors swung open, more blue torches lit themselves in succession revealing a large square chamber. In the centre was a square depression though carved with stairs running along square walls into the centre, like images you had seen of royal baths with beautiful women, instead of being filled with water, in the centre at the bottom, was a crystal the size of a town gate. It was floating in mid-air, a diamond so brilliant, pulsating with that same cold ghostly blue as the fire and the golem's eye. Directly above the crystal was a hole in the ceiling where an unknown source of light spills down on the diamond, illuminating it.

_I found it. I-_

You couldn't finish your thoughts, you couldn’t think at all, all that you had dreamed of was in front of you, riches unknown to the likes of kings, let alone a poor village girl from Burdoff. 

“We did it...I did, I found Alzur’s keep.” You go to step forward, tentatively when -

His hand is on your arm, holding you back.

“Geralt what are you doing?”

“I can’t let you touch that diamond.’

“What?” 

“I have to destroy it."

"Okays sure," you replied sarcastically.

" I'm serious (Y/N). It’s wanted by a reckless group of witchers, killers of innocents, instigators of violence. And that there is not just a jewel, it must be the source of the powerful magic Alzur possessed.”

“Well all the more reason for me, an outstanding citizen to have it.” You went to step forward again, but Geralt held on tight. You looked down at his hand on your arm and then back up at him. “...Geralt. Let go of me.”

“I made a promise (Y/N). They’ll come, and they’ll find it, and no-one needs a group of zealous assassins with this in their possession.”

“And I have worked too hard for too long to find this Keep. If it wasn't for me, you’d still be running around in circles upstairs. Now, give me what I’m owed.” 

“....I can’t.” You examined his face, he seemed regretful, but stern. 

“You really aren’t going to let me take it?”

He shook his head. 

_Fine._

Swiftly, your knife sliced against his fingers, he released his grip and you placed your opposing hand on his shoulder, spun him around and pulled one of his swords from his scabbard as you kicked him away from you. You weren’t the most confident with a sword, but you’d be damned if anyone, even if it was Geralt, was gonna stand in the way of you and a new life.

“I’m walking out of here with that thing. You wanna get in my way, go ahead.”

He languidly pulled his second sword from his shoulder, his black-gloved hands firmly gripped the hilt, poised and waiting, daring you to strike. 

“I’ll do it Geralt. Don’t make me.”

“You’re no killer magpie,” he said, almost sweetly.

“Let's find out.” You stepped with your right foot and stabbed forward, he deflected right. Another lunge, he parried left. He didn't move a foot at all, he didn’t attack, he just stood there brushing your attacks off.

“(Y/N) come on,” he said, you slammed down, blocked. “(Y/N) please!” You swung again, blocked.

You saw a small smirk on his face, and it pissed you off. You attacked ferociously, forcing him to take steps back, good coins skimming and sliding under both your feet. 

“(Y/N) Don’t make me fight you. You’d only lose.” Geralt still didn’t attack, just blocked your strikes with ease, he was playing with you, which only made you angrier.

“Fuck you Geralt.” You said swinging wide at his torso, he dodged backwards, then without warning, he was on the offensive. You couldn’t keep up, your eyes blurred as you barely blocked his attacks left and right. Your back slammed into the wall, reminding you of your already injured ribs, the sword flying from your hand, his sword placed against your throat. 

You looked up, his white hair cascading down his face, fierce and unblunted, his penetrating citrine eyes paralyzed you. Your heart was already racing with rage and anger, but you suddenly breathless. As you gazed at him, he gazed back, his hungry eyes ravaging your face. You watched as his eyes darted from yours, down to your lips. His chest was rising and falling as fast as yours. You couldn’t speak. You waited, for something, anything to happen, for him to say something rude or sarcastic, for him to let you go, to slit your throat, to lean in and- No. He would never.

In this moment of distraction, as he stared down at you, you kicked him in the stomach, hard, pushing him off of you. You didn’t wait for him to get his balance, you had to take advantage of Geralt being on the backfoot, you knew it wouldn’t come round again. You pulled a knife from your belt. Swiftly you spun your leg under him. He dropped, you pinned him to the floor, your left knee placed firmly in his chest, your right foot on his wrist, relieving him of his sword, a knife to his throat.

“Yield,” you ordered.

_Why is his fucking smiling?_

He shot up like a dog out of a kennel, in a second you were flat on your back, disarmed, The White Wolf was on top of you, the sword he dropped now returned to its owner and positioned against your throat. You felt a flutter in your stomach and _-No. Never. Not him._

“Don’t say i-”

“Yield,” Geralt said smugly. You couldn’t move at all, you struggled, your hit and you kicked and still he wouldn’t move, he wasn’t going to be caught off-kilter again. “Stop! You’ve lost. Now yield.”

You could feel the anger in you rising, the embarrassment at losing, the thought that you’d failed again- that’d you’d come all this way and you’d be leaving empty-handed. It was Pont Avis all over again. You couldn’t return to Burdoff with nothing to show for it. You always feared you’d die in that village. You couldn’t yield, you wouldn't. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake (Y/N)! It's just one diamond!” he said angrily.

“You gonna have to kill me, Geralt.” you could feel the tears filling your eyes, you gritted your teeth to hold them back, but the flood still came. “You don’t have to take care of anyone Geralt! You have you and you alone.” You stopped fighting him as the rage overtook you in a flood of tears. “I thought you got it- I thought you knew what it was like.”

“What ‘what’ was like?”

"Living where I live. Having as little as we had. Your whole life is written out for you before you even get a say.”

He removed himself from you, his face pensive. You sat up, rubbing your eyes.

“I mean aren't you bored of it Geralt? The same thing day in day out? Aren't you bored of going to the same shitty tavern in the same shitty village, where they treat you like shit? But doing it anyway for the same shitty coin, drinking the same shitty ale. I mean how long have you been doing this? 50 years? 100?"

"Something like that."

"And that's it till you die? Just accept the hand you’ve been dealt? Well not for me. I’m not staying in that small dying town with nowhere to go but the pyre at the end of a long sad life. It's so-” 

“Shitty?”

“Yes. Shitty. It’s a shitty life. And I don’t- I don't accept that for me anymore. I mean don't you want more for yourself?”

Geralt looked to (Y/N). No-one's ever really asked him that before, what he wanted. He thought about it, what his life would look like without - well, without his life as it is. What would he do? Run a tavern? Be a soldier? A farmer? A father? So many things that didn’t happen. He stopped mourning the possibilities of his life long ago, but hearing (Y/N)’s ired prayers; he knew what that kind of rage felt like.

You stood up, dried your eyes, and threw all your weapons to the floor. “So you are going to have to kill me. I know I can’t beat you. But I’d rather join one of the skeletons in this sinful place that die in Burdoff.”

“Stop bluffing, I’m not going to kill you-”

“Either you stand aside and let me claim my ticket out of that hellhole, or you run me through.” You aimed his sword at your stomach, “C’mon we can’t stand here all day.”

“(Y/N)...”

Geralt’s sword felt heavy in his hand, all the anger he felt towards her melted like snow. Standing in front of her felt like standing in front of a cannon. He looked at (Y/N), her face reddened with rage and wet from her tears, her eyes peeking out from her mess of hair, bright and defiant. 

“It’s fine Geralt. If you do it... I think I’ll be okay.” Even though you hated Geralt right now, you trusted he would kill you quickly and that was a blessing. You close your eyes and wait. Each second is agonising, you think about the pain of dying, the shame of never seeing Matthias again, the hope of seeing your father, mother and Maddi soon. 

A clatter broke your thoughts.

Geralt’s sword was on the floor, his hand reaching for your sodden cheek. He wiped your tears away. His mask, finally, and completely, came all the way down. His eyes stayed on yours. 

“I don't think even fate itself, could deny you, Magpie.” 

Without another word, he stepped aside.

You tentatively took a step, Geralt did not stop you. You took another, then some more till you were standing in front of the diamond. The light refracted in the gem created a myriad of colours, so beautiful and blinding and brilliant. You placed your hand on it and felt the energy -it’s energy- coursing through you, a high vibrating hum that reverberated through every bone in your body. Whatever this gem was, Geralt was right; it was more than a diamond. You kept your hand on it, feeling it's strange and alien magnetism pulsating through you. You pushed the diamond -it was damned heavy- the beam of light from the ceiling felt like a brick wall, keeping the diamond in place. You placed your other hand on the diamond and pushed. The light resisted, so you dug your heels in and pushed again. It wouldn’t budge. You dropped your arms, sweat dripping down your forehead. You heard steps pull up beside you. You straightened up, Geralt was beside you rolling up his sleeves. 

“Come on. We don’t have all day,” he said with a sweet but mocking cadence in his voice, placing his hands on the diamond. You stood beside him and placed your hands back on the diamond, staring into the kaleidoscopic colours, gathering your breath.

“3...”

“2...”

“1...”

You both pushed as hard as you could, and you began to feel the diamond shift, breaking through the barrier of light trapping it. It felt like pushing against a violent rogue wave. You dug your heels in again and kept going - the diamond was halfway through, then three quarters. You could feel your blood in your neck, your eyes clouded with sweat. 

“Come...on!”

Finally, it was out of the beam of light from the ceiling. You cheered to yourself, but you had a long way to go to even get it out of the castle. As you gave yourself a moment to catch you breathe, you looked to Geralt with a smile. He smiled back, till his face dropped- The sound of rumbling echoed through the hall, a loud thunderous roar emanating from the diamond - A crack formed in the crystal. The floor shook beneath you - a crack snaked up the north wall in the exact same pattern as the one in the crystal. 

The diamonds crack got worse, deeper, as rumbling got louder. The crack in the wall followed the diamond, extending into the floor under your floor. You tried to push the diamond back into the light, Geralt too, but it didn’t work. Whatever you both had done had broken the seal of the light, and now the room was crumbling around you, parts of the diamond were breaking off, the ceiling of the room came raining down around you in chunks. Alzur's last booby trap, taking the crystal from you.

_Nononononononononono. It's all falling apart._

You grabbed the pieces off the floor and tried to place them back into the diamond, but it wouldn’t work. Geralt grabbed your arm and shouted over the collapsing rubble “(Y/N)! We need to go!”

“No, we can fix it!”

“(Y/N)!” His eyes told no lies, and you knew you couldn’t salvage this. You nodded, grabbed what parts of the diamond you could, and ran. 

You made it through the door - the ceiling fell in completely, taking the room and the rest of diamond into the endless depths of the mountain. You kept running, running and running up the long corridors as fast as you could, the crumbling castle on your heels. You saw the gate, it was melted by fire, but Vilgefortz was nowhere to be seen. You kept running, through the study up into the wine cellar to find Vilgefortz waiting there.

“Oh thank the gods!” he grasped your hand. “Didn’t know how much longer I could’ve waited.”

“No time to stop and chat!”

You all make a break for the front gate, the rooms and marble columns disintegrating around you. You reach the gate to find the bridge still broken from your ungraceful entry into the castle.

“Fuck!” 

“We’re never gonna make that jump!”

“You got a better idea?”

 _Time for my old and faithful_ you thought. You whipped out your beloved grappling hook, jumped and threw the hook - it caught on a beam and you pulled yourself up. As you stood, the beam broke and fell into the chasm below taking your hook and rope with it. The gap was now wider, and you had no longer had your rope. 

_Shit._

Vilgefortz and Geralt were behind you back at the castle gate, losing time. You lay on the bridge and extended your hand.

“You’re gonna have to jump!” Vilgefortz walked back, exhaled, and ran and jumped.

He closed the gap and you caught his hand just as he landed chest-first right into the beam. You pulled him up as quickly as you could before another beam broke off and descended down. 

“Come on Geralt!”

He wanted to jump, you could see it, but he was hesitant, the gap was now absurd.

“Come on! Jump!” 

His eyes were full of fear and doubt. 

"Do you trust me?" you called out to him, your arm outstretched.

_I do._

He ran. 

You stretched as far as you could, willing your hand as you could, but you saw him miss you, you swiped and grabbed at the air hoping it would pull him closer, but he didn’t. You watched helplessly as he fell towards the chasm.

He reached... 

He saw her face drop as his hand missed hers...

_Fuck._

The dark abyss came closer and closer, its hand outstretched, grasping for him. He went to shake it...

* * *

  
Then, he landed on the bridge. 

Above him, golden sparks circling in a gate that he fell through.

“Geralt?!” (Y/N)’s arms were wrapped tightly around his neck. It wasn’t till her lemon scent was filling his senses that he realised he was alive. She wasn’t letting go, so hesitantly he wrapped his arms around her waist. He breathed in the fragrance, trying to remember the nuance of it. A moment passed and she let go.

“That’s the last time I’m ever listening to you again,” Geralt said, sore from the fall.

“Don't make promises you can't keep,” you laughed back. 

Geralt stood and went over to Vilgefortz. “Suppose I have you to thank for catching me.” He stuck out his hand, Vilgefortz shook it.

“Anytime,” he replied. “So what happened down there?”

“Well, there was a massive diamond suspended by light, it glowed blue like the lanterns.”

“When we moved it out of the light, the castle started collapsing.”

“Amazing! Did you get any of the diamond?”

“No,” you said without hesitation. _I may like Vee but he is not getting any of these shards of diamond._

Geralt looked at you with disbelief. “Fell into a chasm,” he said, continuing the lie.

* * *

You found Roach waiting in the shade, she trotted over with excitement, rubbing her nose into Geralt. She really was the sweetest. 

“Shame. That diamond must’ve been a marvel. And whatever power it held...” Vilgefortz said, gazing back at the now completely ruined castle. “All that knowledge...”

“Better destroyed than left in the hands of men.” Geralt said, petting Roach’s nose.

“Still. A shame.”

“I could've been so fucking rich... what a wasted journey,” you said. You were completely exhausted. Your ribs were still cracked, your body was one long sigh away from falling apart. All you wanted was a week-long hot bath. 

“Not completely,” Vilgefortz replied, looking at you with a suggestive smile. 

“Where will you go now?” you asked.

“I’ve got some friends in Toussaint who may help. Why don’t you come with me?”

You blushed. “I would.” you saw his body deflate, “Really I would, but I’ve got someone back home waiting for me.”

"Can't say I'm not disappointed." He kissed your hands. “Till next time then (Y/N).” Vilgefortz closed his eyes for a moment and another golden gate opened, he stepped through, saluting to the both of you, and it closed behind him. And like that he was gone.

You turned to see Geralt leaning on Roach as if he was waiting for you. _Gods even after all that he looks good- No no no-no._ _You're still pissed at him for what he said._

_‘Not going with him?” he asked._

“That’s really none of your business,” you said walking past him.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you, don’t worry I won’t cause you any more trouble, I’m sure you wouldn’t want a messed up, dirty, rotten thieving bitch like me to ruin your day.”

 _Fuck Geralt. You fucking idiot_ he scolded himself.

“I’m...” he trailed off.

“You’re what Geralt?” You looked down to see his fists clasped in tight balls, you thought he might burst.

“If I hurt your-”

“If?! Geralt I think you can apologise a bit better than that for fucks sake.” You could hear his teeth gritting from where you were standing.

“I am trying to apologise!”

“Well fucking do it then!”

“Well if you stopped interrupting I might be able to! My god you never shut up (Y/N)!” he knew instantly he dug himself deeper in the hole. “Listen... I didn’t mean what... You just..Look will you just get on the horse?”

You didn’t say anything. Trying to get him to apologise was like pulling teeth.

“You're just so...”

“I’m just so what exactly?”

“Gods (Y/N) you’re infuriating! You’re a pain. You never listen, you run into danger as if you’re invincible! And every time I’m near you I end up doing something I would neve- You just...You really know how to get under my nose.” His nose was flared, and you’d never heard Geralt speak in so many octaves, his low sonorous voice now sharp and penetrating. You stood arms crossed, waiting for the magic words. 

“You're not a dishonourable thief... at the bridge... you could've left us. You didn't. What I said under the cellar... I'm sorry. ” It was the most sincere you'd ever seen him, and the first you'd ever heard him apologise. As much as you wanted to you couldn't stay mad at him, you were too exhausted. Also, he looked quite cute with his tail between his legs.

“Thank you, Geralt. Though you still can’t afford me.” You made your way to Roach who was waiting politely. “So.. are we travelling together or do you despise me still?” you said climbing on.

“You’re gonna keep me on this hook aren’t you?” He asked looking up at you with sunny eyes.

“Just for a few days,” you said with a smirk, lowering your hand to pull him onto the horse.

“This’ll be a fun trip,” he replied, taking your hand. 


	8. Kagen to Burdoff

After months of travel with Geralt, Burdoff was only a few weeks away. You couldn’t wait to see Matthias, it wasn’t till you neared home you realised how much you missed him. You were still gutted about not being able to take the whole crystal for him, but you hoped someone would buy the large shards you had. You were currently a few hours away from Kagen and the months of wading through the forests, swamps and grasslands left in dire need of a hot bath and a bed.

“We’ll stop here for the night.” Geralt announced.

“Kagen is only a few hours away, let’s push a bit and then stay in a proper bed.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and sighed.

“C’mon Geralt, please? I can’t tell my own stink from Roach’s.”

“Fine. But you can pay for the rooms.”

You continued through the forest, the sun was near set, the sky a blend of blues, oranges and purples, darkening into an indigo night. You held onto Geralt as you listened to familiar birdsong.

* * *

You arrived in Kagen, it was a sizeable town, even at this late hour, people were walking about, getting on with their business, most of them staring at you and Geralt, well mostly at Geralt. You had noticed while travelling with Geralt when you would occasionally go into a town for supplies and such the like, that people stared at him relentlessly. Some looked scared, shut their doors and windows, others looked in shock and awe as if he were some mystical titan. In a way, you suppose he was, a hunter made from sorcery, many townsfolk are still distrustful of that. 

You climbed off Roach and headed towards the tavern, Geralt to the stables. Inside was warm and bright, there was a large oak bar, red-nosed men and women with hearty laughs filled the circle tables dotted under the dark eaves. One table, in particular, was filled to the brim with people. You each person at the table was being passed a toddler in a white dress - must’ve been a baptism today. Their merriness warmed you. 

You continued to watch the patrons, the strumming of lute making you tap your foot. The musician began to sing, you recognised him instantly.

“ _ Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger, _

_ Come quell your daughter’s hunger _

_ To pull on my horn _

_ As it rises in the morn _

_ For ‘its naught but bad luck _

_ To fuck with a puck _

_ Lest your grandkid be born _

_ A fairy young faun _

_ Bleating and braying all day, hey ho _

_ The fishmonger’s daughter, ba ba” _

You walked towards Jaskier, who was dressed in a red ‘ensemble’ as he would put it, leaned against a wooden pillar and sang along. His eyes drifted over to you, a joyous beaming smile spread across his face. He immediately stopped playing and threw his arms around you. He received a fair amount of booing but he didn’t seem to care. You hugged him back, both agreeing that this reunion needed to be commemorated with alcohol.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks. You didn’t know where to start. So much happened in Stygga.

“Well I’ve been travelling and I-” before you could finish your sentence, you felt the wind at your back as the door hinges squeaked - 

“GERALT?!” Jaskier exclaimed in surprise. Geralt immediately sighed before reluctantly joining you and Jaskier at the bar. “What are the odds that-” Jaskier looked to you and the penny dropped, “Wait wait wait wait wait a hot minute- are you two...?”

“We ran into each other on the road,” you explained.

“Very uneventful.” Geralt said.

“I am not buying that for a second - You Miss (Y/N) are going to tell me e-ver-ry-thing.”

“After a hot bath and some food, Geralt can fill you in till then can’t you Geralt?”

He shot you a cold look, but you only laughed. Since Stygga he became a bit easier to read, you knew when to push his buttons and when not to, but with Jaskier here as well it would be hard to resist. 

You managed to get the attention of the barkeep, a portly woman with strong arms and her hair tied in a headscarf. You asked for a room, she said there was only one, two singles. You paid her for the room and a bath, she gave you a key and sent one of the younger girls up to sort it for you. You thanked her and began to make your way upstairs, the hot water already calling to you.

It was a simple room, two basic single beds, a basin, an empty chest and a bathtub with a screen. As soon as the bath was ready you stripped off your clothes and dived in. You felt your muscles instantly soften in the piping hot water, the scent of lavender and honey calming you. You thoroughly scrubbed yourself down, noticing how many cuts and bruises you had, and washed the sweat and grime from your hair. 

You got out to find the maid had taken your clothes no doubt for washing, she left you a pair of brown trousers, your boots, a red shirt and black corset. The trousers were a bit loose and the corset was a bit small, but you didn’t complain about wearing a fresh set of clothes. Refreshed, you made your way back down into the tavern, locking your door behind you.

* * *

The smell of lavender and honey reached Geralt and he turned to see you - he watched as you strode down the tavern stairs, your hair pinned away from your face, still wet from the bath, some strands stuck to your face, beads of water dripping down your neck. His eyes trailed down to your chest in the black corset, your hips, the way the swayed and thoughts of his hands-

“Enjoying the view?” Jaskier said taking a sip of his drink.

Geralt kicked Jaskier in the leg under the table.

“OW!”

* * *

You heard a shout over the myriad of conversation and saw Jaskier and Geralt sat in a corner of the tavern. You walked over to them and sat down next to Jaskier who slid you a flagon of ale.

“We were just talking about you,” Jaskier said cheerfully.

You nearly choked on your pint, “Wh-What? What about? Only good things I hope.”

“No I was trying to get Geralt to tell me how you two ‘bumped’ into each other but he was being more than unhelpful.”

“I’m going upstairs,” Geralt said immediately.

“Oh here-” you passed him the key “Middle door on the left,” he took it without saying thanks and stormed upstairs. You moved to sit opposite Jaskier.

“What did you say to him?” you asked

“Me?” Jaskier asked faux-innocently. 

“C’mon what were you talking about.”

“Well, I asked him about where you guys were going or coming from, he said Stygga Castle, I asked him what happened there, he mentioned a diamond and some guy called Vilgefortz which he seemed to HATE more than anything and-” 

You choked on your drink a little - _ Oh my gods, Vilgefortz- _ You’d hardly thought about him on the way here.

Jaskier saw your reaction at the mention of Vilgefortz, “Oh, so something did happen?”

“I don’t know what you mean Jask.”

“You’re a better liar than Geralt but your face is SO red.”

“Is it?”  _ Fuck.  _ “Okay fine-”

You tell Jaskier all that happened, finding Geralt in the swamps, the Castle, meeting Vilgefortz, even the wine cellar which made didn’t even make Jaskier blink. You told him about the keep, the golem, the diamond, your fight with Geralt, the castle caving in on itself and the three of you barely making it out alive.

“This has got the making of a song- a powerful treasure, magicks, a forlorn attraction-

“Attraction?!” you nearly spat out your drink, “No Jaskier I-”

Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose, “For sweet Melitele sake! Are you blind?

“Geralt can just about tolerate me, we just got to being friends.”

“(Y/N) please, stop and think for a minute. I have never- I mean  _ ever _ \- heard of Geralt apologising to anyone.”

“Really?”

“I mean you two make sense, you’re as stubborn as he is.”

“I am NOT as stubborn as he is- he’s-he’s rude and arrogant and grumpy and-and-and he’s rude and-”

“You said ‘rude’ already.”

“Fuck off Jask-” 

“Oh wow you even sound like him!” Jaskier looked at you knowingly, laughing to himself as if fate had already decided for you both and he was just watching it unfold. 

“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation.” you deflected.

“Now there I agree with you.”

You both beckoned a maid for more ale and some dinner. You sat and talked for a few hours, all the while Geralt was in the back of your mind. You couldn’t deny you had become friendlier over the journey to Burdoff, but that’s all it was- friendliness. 

After a few too many pints your eyelids were starting to feel heavy. The tavern had thinned out and you knew Geralt would be waking you up at the ass-crack of dawn, so you bid Jaskier a hearty farewell and a promise to say a proper goodbye in the morning. You trudged up the stairs, swung to door open ready to leap into be-

Geralt stood, his back turned to you, completely naked in the bathtub. The steam carried the smell of the same lavender and honey oil you used. His silver hair was dripping water down his neck, the water glistening on his sculpted back, accentuating each muscle in the candlelight. Each inch of his marred skin seemingly covered in white hot or ruddy red scars. His thick thighs were covered in curly black hair, his firm dinnerplate arse -

He turned and looked over his shoulder straight at you. His eyes looked darker in the candlelight, a rich honeyed amber, his intense gaze held you. You awoke from the moment.

“Fuck sorry!” you slammed the door and ran back downstairs, your face flushed and hot, your heart in your ears. You went straight to the bar and asked for a vodka which you downed straight away. Jaskier was gone, no doubt to his room. 

You sat down at the bar -you don’t know how long- drinking more vodka, waiting for your heart to stop beating, your mind racing back and forth

_ Why didn’t put the screen up? He must’ve heard me coming up the stairs? Fuck did he do it in on purpose? Just to get to me? No no no no (Y/N), don’t let Jaskier get in your head. It was just bad timing. Yeah. Bad timing.  _

_ That doesn’t explain why you lingered so long. _

_ Shut up brain. _

_ He did have a  _ _ very _ _ nice ass. _

_ Shut up brain! _

But you’re brain wouldn’t shut up, the thoughts wouldn’t stop, even with the amount of alcohol you had to drown them in. He looked like on the statues you saw in Tretogor, carved and perfect.

_ No no, no, brain... Shut up.  _

Your eyes felt even heavier than before, and it had been long enough that your face had returned to its normal temperature. You slowly tiptoed upstairs, this time you made sure to knock - no response. You opened the door as silently as you could, the candles were out, and you could make out Geralt’s hulking body in the bed closest to the window. You slipped off your boots and climbed in under the covers, you pulled your trousers off underneath. The bed wasn’t the fanciest by a mile, but it was softer than the forest floor. You fell asleep almost instantly.

* * *

_ You sat on the edge of a table, in a dark wine cellar. _

_ Geralt stood in front of you, captured your chin in his hand, leaned down and kissed you. You melted into him, his other hand traced down your spine, and pulled you by the waist closer to his firm body. _

_ You heard smashing glass- but you didn’t care. _

_ Geralt’s hand ran down your waist to your hips which he squeezed tightly, his breath hot on your neck as he left a trail of kisses. Your hands tangled in his white hair as you felt his tongue against your lips. You let him in. He was so close now, his hands running up your back, ass, and thighs, yours running along his arm’s chest and back. _

_ A desperate moan escaped your lips as your bodies were now flushed against each other, your legs wrapped his waist in a frenzied attempt for more friction. His rapt kisses trailed from your lips to your neck, one hand squeezing your ass, resting gently on the side of your face. He teeth bit and scraped under your jaw, leaving you keening under him. He left a wet hot trail of suckling bruises from your jaw to collar bone, another desperate whimper erupted from your chest. Your legs tightened around his waist and you felt his erection press hard into your now throbbing pussy, your clothes barring you from pleasure. _

_ You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed him. You started pulling the laces of his trousers. He stopped you, you frowned in frustration, but Geralt only smiled. _

_ Geralt’s piercing eyes felt as if they warmed your skin simply by looking at you. He pulled up the skirt of your dress and got to his knees. His tongue went straight to your clit and a high pitched whine erupted from you. His stubble scratched deliciously against your thighs and folds, you began to wriggle, he looped his strong under your thighs, his hands pressing down on your hips as his tongue languidly exploring every inch of you. Your hand fisted a ball of his white hair as you were unable to sit still from the pleasure his tongue was giving you. He picked up the pace and you could feel a pressure rising in your chest, a knot twisting in your stomach, you were unable to stop it, moans spilling from your lips like desperate cries. The knot keeps twisting and tightening, threatening to snap and gods you wanted it to. You looked down to see his yellow eyes staring back at you and felt the knot snap- _

“(Y/N)!” a hand on your shoulder. Your eyes focused to see Geralt above you, shaking you awake.    


A sleepy “Hmm?” was all you could manage. 

“You kept moaning. I thought you were having a nightmare.”

_ Nightmare?  _ The dream came flooding back to you, Geralt, his hands, his  _ tongue...  _ _ Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! _

“Yeah. I was having a terrible nightmare. Horrible. Dreadful. Utterly horrible.”

“You said ‘horrible’ already,” he said with a teasing tone in his voice.

“Well.. well it was.”

“Hmm.” he got up without another word, “I’ll meet you downstairs.” 

You leapt out of bed, changed into your own clothes which were now clean and had been placed at the foot of your bed, (you decided to keep the red shirt as well), bought some bread and cold cuts from the bar and met sat with Geralt and Jaskier at one of the tables. You bit into your breakfast silently, still chastising your subconscious for that dream. Geralt was eating his own breakfast, Jaskier had his guitar in hand, would play a few chords and hum a tune, then go scribbling in his notebook.

“Sadly,” Geralt said, you jumped at his baritone voice, you felt that knot twist. “Jaskier has decided to come with us.”

“Yeah I need to finish this song and I need details.”

“Song?” you asked.

“Yes, of Stygga Castle. I said it would make a good song.”

“Please don’t. It’s not one of my better moments.”

“I’ve already tried to stop him (Y/N).” Geralt commented grimly. 

You all finished breakfast and left Kagen. You walked beside Jaskier as Geralt rode Roach out into the hills of Sodden, Temeria just across the Jaruga, home basically insight. 

* * *

The week passed as most of the travelling had, but this air of awkwardness wouldn’t leave you. Each time Geralt spoke to you, or gods-forbid touched you on the shoulder or arm as he normally did, you felt like your skin was on fire. It didn’t help to have Jaskier there who would shoot you a look when he caught you staring at Geralt. Each night you prayed you wouldn’t dream of him, but he was always there in some aspect, the image you and him in the wine cellar returned each night in some variation. 

_ It’s only one more night till I’m home, then this is all over. He’ll keep travelling back to Kaer Morhen, and I’ll be home. He’ll forget about me and I’ll forget about him. Things can go back to normal.  _ You snuggled down in your bedroll and closed your eyes, listened to Jaskiers idle strumming, and tried to not think of him.

* * *

Geralt sat by the fire, Jaskier sat near him, playing his lute. 

“I finished the song, would you like to hear it?”

“Something tells me you’re going to play it anyway.”

“Very true.” Jaskier cleared his throat, and began:

_ "One for sorrow, that’s all she brings  _

_ The greedy thief, the miserly magpie _

_ Beak always in another’s pouch  _

_ Bold, stubborn and swift, pinching everything _

_ The magpie spies for better things. _

__

_ Two for joy, but no fervour will I confess _

_ The floor adorned with her nimble steps _

_ stolen, pilfered and pinched are the treasure of royal subjects  _

_ jewels and pearls, hidden under her black dress. _

_ The magpie spies for better things. _

_ Three for the maid, Four for the magician, _

_ Eyes clouded with rage and envy _

_ The dark pit of jealousy swelling in my stomach  _

_ The two of them alone with wine and bad decisions _

_ The magpie spies for better things. _

_ Five for silver, Six for gold, _

_ I pray to be the richest man in the land _

_ Queens and kings ne’er had so little, compared to me _

_ Just so she can pickpocket till I’m grey and old _

_ As the magpie spies for better things. _

_ Seven for a secret, Never to be told _

_ About my mercurial mistress _

_ Oh, the only treasure I e’er did covet _

_ Is to have her to hold _

_ But the magpie spies for better things." _

“For fuck’s sake Jaskier,” Geralt grunted angrily.

“What?”

“You can’t write stuff like that!”

“And why the hell not? It’s true”

“It’s not true I-”

“Sweet Melitele Geralt why don’t you just tell her?” Jaskier said.

“Tell her what?” Geralt said confused.

“Geralt, please... I’m not blind.”

Geralt sighed. He’d been trying to hide it for Jaskier, but he had to concede the bard actually knew him quite well. “She...” he sighed again, struggling to find the words. 

“Even if... Even if she did..” Geralt stumbled his words as he watched you sleep in your bedroll. 

“Did what?”

Geralt grunted, he hated having to talk like this. “Even if she did...want me, she’s a magpie, she’ll find something better and go for that. And I won’t be able to blame her.”

For once Jaskier didn’t respond, just considered what Geralt said. Geralt stomped out the last embers of the fire and got into his bedroll. He turned away from (Y/N) and tried not to think of her.

* * *

You awoke early in the morning, you were up even before Geralt, the excitement of seeing Matthias practically propelled you out of your slumber. You pulled your boots and weapons on, packed up your things and picked at some food from last night. Geralt awoke shortly after, some of his hair sticking up messily, without thinking it made you smile. Jaskier took more persuading to leave his bedroll, but eventually, you were all on the road towards Burdoff as the sun's first light started breaking through the trees. 

After the days walk (well you were nearly jogging you walked so fast), you came round a familiar bend in the hills of the forest and expected to see the same old boring Burdoff, but it wasn’t. You could see pillars of dark smoke rising from near the town - the soldiers camp. The hot air stung your eyes and smelled foul. You walked the road into town, expecting to see the usual market stalls, the blacksmith sharpening something on his grindstone, but you couldn’t see anything through the sea of Temerian soldiers. The village had basically been swallowed by the soldiers camp. You barged through the onslaught of metal to the tavern. 

“(Y/N)! Wait!” Jaskier called but you weren’t listening.

Inside was just as busy, all the townsfolk you see sitting and drinking after their hard day's work were nowhere, only the military. You searched frantically and found Reuben behind the old bar looking flustered with a jar of ale in his hands. 

“Reuben!” you shouted over the noise. He caught your gaze as you pushed to the front of the bar. “What the fuck happened here?”

“The King is going all out against the Nilfgaardians, all the men have been conscripted!” he shouted over the clamour, “The soldiers' camp got expanded into training quarters, basically swallowed the town,” more soldiers started calling him for a top-up “Look come back after I close up, we’ll talk.

_ All the men got conscripted? Does that mean... _ A terrible thought dawned on you. You barged through the parade of men and out of the tavern, towards home. You ran as fast as you can, down the main road, a short cut through the fields, to your cottage.

“Matt!” you called, but no response. You went to the door- it was locked. “No no no, please. Don’t tell me I’m too late.” you kicked the door in -

Inside was dark and empty. The beds had been stripped, the pantry was bare, the fireplace long cold. You moved the bricks of the fireplace to reveal your secret coffers - still there. But no Matthias. You sat on the edge of the bed in shock.

_ He’s been conscripted. I was too late to get back to him. He could be sent anywhere. He could already be - NO. Don’t think that. _

As your thoughts circled like vultures, thoughts of Matthias dying on some cold muddy battlefield, a rage built in you, a rage you only got when you felt this helpless. Sounds of hooves clopping in the mud, a distant voice calling your name. 

“Wait here,” Geralt walked in somberly, seeing you sitting on the edge of the bed, leg bouncing up and down, hands clenched together, teeth gritted, eyes red with rage, trying not to cry. He sat down next to you, not saying a word. You searched for something to say to him, to explain your sadness, your anger, but nothing seemed to suffice. You only looked at him desperately and he seemed to understand. He awkwardly placed an arm around you, and you laughed, seeing how confused and unsure Geralt was in trying to comfort you. But you felt comforted, you leaned into him, placing your head into his shoulder. He smelled like the campfire and the unearthed soil, you breathed him in for a moment before sitting back up. 

“I’ve got to go find him Geralt, I can’t- I can’t lose anyone else.”

“I know.”

You sat there in silence for a long time, Geralt occasionally taking a sip from his waterskin. You really didn’t want him to leave for Kaer Morhen right now, but you couldn’t drag him into this, you couldn’t ask him. “Thank you, Geralt, for coming all this way with me. But I’ve got to sort th-this mess out.”

“Thinking about going up against the Temerian army?”

“I’m hoping my brother is still in that training camp and I’m pulling him out of there. If I have to wade back down south to pull him from a battlefield I’ll do it. He’s my little Big brother.”

Geralt considered what you said, “Nothing I say is going to persuade you not to do that is it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

You laughed half-heartedly, “No I guess not.”

“Well, I know a witcher who may be willing to help.”

“No Geralt I can’t ask that-”

“But he’s not complimentary, he does like to get paid.” He said.

“You’d take money from a poor farmer's daughter?” you joked. “What’s your price then Witcher?”

“Well let’s see how many injuries I get after all this and go from there.” he put out his hand.

“Deal.” you shook it.

* * *

A few hours later, you, Geralt and Jaskier made your way back into town to Reuben’s. The tavern had thinned out but was still busy. You found a table to sit at in amongst the drunken rowdy soldiers, their shouts and hollers like nails on a chalkboard. Reuben came over with three pints of ale and promise to talk properly when the tavern was quieter. Jaskier played to the crowd as he always did, keeping the tavern lively. You sat with Geralt and drank and drank, hoping it would quell your emotions. 

You watched Reuben as he rushed around the tavern like a blue bottle, trying to adhere to all the soldier’s unruly demands. One table, in particular, seemed to be enjoying himself a bit too much with giving Reuben the runaround. 

“That’ll be 20 orens please fellas,” Reuben asked them.

“How ‘bout you put in on the war tax or summit,” one said.

“Yeah we’re doing your country a fa-favour” another one burped.

The loudest one stood up, “Listen, mate, take this and be on your way yeah?” 

“But this isn’t enough to c-”

“Sorry what was that?” the loud one said aggressively, his hand on the hilt of his sword threateningly. A heat built in your skin exacerbated by the many pints you put away  _ How dare he?  _ You stood up and walked over.

“Now now lads, shouldn’t we pay the good barkeep? How’s he supposed to buy more ale for all of you?” 

“I’ll pay him what I damn well please,” the loud one said turning to face you now, his hand still on his sword hilt.

“(Y/N) really its oka-”

“No Reuben, you’ve been serving these _ fine _ soldiers I think they should pay for your excellent services.”

“Listen I don’t need some country harlot  _ telling me _ how to spend my orens.” The other soldiers stood up behind their loud-mouthed leader. The tavern fell silent, all eyes were on you and these men, even Jaskier stopped playing, staring at you with concern.

You punched the loud one straight in the throat, panic flooded his face as he choked on nothing, falling to on his knee, clutching his chest, gasping for air. The others pulled their swords out and you were ready to go, ready to fight.

Then, their eyes drifted up, and they stepped back in fear. You turned to see what they were looking at, only to see the imposing White Witcher himself sporting his most terrifying scowl.

“Pay the man,” he ordered in his deep booming voice. 

“That’s the Butcher of Blaviken” one whispered. They all scrambled in their pockets and poured all they had on the table.

“Leave,” he ordered again. They practically ran out the door, the one on the floor struggling to keep up.

You scoffed in annoyance and stormed back to your table.

“Th-thank you Geralt,” Reuben said meekly.

“Hmm.” Geralt said with a nod.

Jaskier started playing again and the other patrons continued their conversations. You finished your pint and asked Reuben for another.

“Maybe you should slow down,” Geralt said sliding into the bench across from you.

“Maybe you should’ve let me take them,” you replied angrily. Your skin was still hot and now you had the fever for a fight bubbling along with it, the frantic energy with nowhere to go.

“They would’ve stabbed you for the inconvenience alone (Y/N).”

“Still you no right, it was my fight!”

“And how are suppose to help Matthias if you’re dead because of a stupid tavern brawl?”

You scoffed, you knew he was right you just didn’t want to admit it. Reuben brought you another pint and you thanked him. 

You looked around the tavern, seeing so many unfamiliar used to fill you with excitement, but now it saddens. The town you knew has been erased for the sake of this war. As you eyes drifted, they landed back on Geralt. His Romanesque nose, the dark brows over his bright yellow eyes, his strong jaw and matching cheekbones speckled with dark stubble, his cascading white hair like a hill covered in snow. Maybe it was the alcohol, the frantic energy that wouldn’t subside within you, but memories of your dreams of him came flooding to the forefront of your mind. 

“Tell me, do you ever get lonely, Geralt?”

“The Butcher of Blaviken? Too busy clearing the continent of monsters to be lonely.”

You look at him, refusing to flinch away from his sharp gaze.

“Sometimes.” He admits. “And if I ever hear you repeat that I'll cut you from sternum to jaw.”

“I keep thinking about my brother, armoured up and helpless, unable to do the things he loves.”

“Like what?”

“...you know I don’t even know anymore, that's how long he's been that’s how long he’s been looking after the farm, looking after Maddison when she was...” you sighed. “What would you do, Geralt? Your last few seconds on Earth. Anything you want. Right now.”

“What, anything?”

“Anything...”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

His eyes trailed the features of your face, landing on your lips.

“Say it,” you whispered to him.

He turned away, looking into his pint. “I've been drinking. And you're very drunk.” He pulls your pint away from you.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm doing the right thing. And you should slow down, magpie.” 

You shuddered at his use of your nickname. You couldn’t reply, or talk at all, you felt like an idiot.  _ I basically just threw myself at him and he just turned me down. Sweet Melitelle (Y/N) what is wrong with you?! _

Reuben then finally joined you at your table, “I’ve got about 10 minutes,”

“What happened to Matthias?” you asked desperately 

“A few months ago, a new boss came into Burdoff, don’t know his name, they only refer to him as ‘The Captain’, apparently very popular among the higher-ups in the Temerian army. He’s been tasked with training new recruits to fight the Nilfgaardians, basically building a new army for the king. All the men of age have been called to fight, I managed to get out of it as an ‘important business owner’. I think its just because I’m supplying booze to the camp for the officers and to the grunts here.”

“What’s this Captain like?” Geralt asked.

“A real hard-arse, obsessed with winning the war, I heard there’s no battle he hasn’t won, and he plans to keep it that way. Heard his father was a big general in the Temerian Army, and he’s set to surpass him.”

“A career soldier then?” you asked.

“Doesn’t stop him being ruthless (Y/N). One day, one of the soldiers came in, his hand in bandages, I heard he was caught stealing an extra ration and had his last two fingers on his left taken as punishment under the Captain’s orders.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” you commented. “And Matthias has been training under this guy?”

Reuben nodded solemnly. “Worse still, he sends his soldiers round to ‘tax’ the farmers, rinses them dry, Jacob and his family are struggling to feed themselves let alone have enough to sell. The kings’ war tax was hard enough without this Captain taking extra.”

“They take my brother, then they literally take food from the people they’re supposed to be protecting? I think I need to have a chat with this Captain.”


	9. The Compound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and (Y/N) organise a break-in of the compound, however not all goes to plan.

You stand up and start making your way out of the tavern, Reuben grabs your wrist, pleading for you not to barge in like a bull in a china shop.

“(Y/N) please! You burst in there like this- the Captain will not take kindly to that and then he’ll never let you see your brother, at worst he’d put him on the front,” he implored.

You sighed, maybe the drink had gone to your head and you were just being a bit impulsive. You sat back down, “I’ll be going first thing in the morning,” you stated. 

“And we’ll back you up,” Jaskier said slapping his hand on Geralt’s back, who grunted miserably.

The thought of spending more time with Geralt made you nervous. Before Geralt could even protest you interrupted, “No please, this is personal business I couldn’t. Also, I feel that bringing Geralt with me is tantamount to a threat.” He smirked at the comment. 

Reuben returned to the bar, there were still patrons in the tavern, songs to be sung and ale to be drunk, but you weren’t in the mood for any of it, feeling deflated from the day. You caught Geralt looking at you, looking almost concerned. His glowing yellow eyes softened and you felt your chest warm and-

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that Geralt! I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

“I am!”

“I said ‘sure!’”. 

The awkward silence sat between you, you couldn’t even look at him. He kept making your stomach churn, and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger or attraction, it was maddening.

“I think I’m going to go home.”

“..Okay,” he said flatly.

“I’ll uh- I’ll guess you’ll be going in the morning?” you asked. 

“Well I..” he began, “I guess yes. I’ll be moving on. Back to Kaer Morhen,” he said, he was as stiff as a wooden board right now.

_Fuck why everything so awkward between me and him?_

“Okay well, I just wanna say- well to say thank you fo-for your company, on the long journey here.”

“My company?” he asked, looking perplexed. Gods help him. Gods help me.

“Just take the compliment Geralt.” 

He smiled and bowed his head, “Thank you. And anyway-” Geralt continued, “I have a feeling we’d run into each other soon.”

“What do you m-”

“You have a nose for trouble magpie,” you felt your stomach churn again.

“Please stop calling me that.”

“You said it suits you,” he argued back.

“I never said that! I said - you know what nevermind. Goodnight Geralt.” you turned and left the tavern.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

* * *

You arrived home to the empty cottage, cold and dark. You lit the fireplace, a few old candles, and made the bed. You reminisced on growing up here, how this little hut felt so cramped with the 5 of you here, now it felt far too big. You looked at the empty beds from your own, curled into a ball and waited for sleep.

_A black icy field outstretched its hand towards you._   
_In its palm, Matthias. He held a sword. He held a shield._   
_You ran along one of the bone-thin fingers, the hills of its knuckles, the layers of mud of its wrinkles, making it harder and harder to run._   
_The closer you got, the further you felt away._   
_You could feel your body tiring._   
_You called out to him, but he could not hear._   
_You screamed and screamed, and he turned._   
_Yes!_   
_You kept running as fast as you could, your hand outstretched to him._   
_You were close..._   
_So close..._   
_You could reach him..._   
_As your hand grasped his, you felt relief,_   
_But only for a moment,_   
_When the black fields hand closed around you both._

You awoke in a sweat, terrified. You sat up and tried to steady your breath, anxious thoughts of Matthias running wild in your mind.

_Gods I wish Geralt were here-_   
_No, you don’t. You don’t need him._

You got up and got dressed, only one thing could ease your anxiety, talking to the Captain. You marched from your empty cottage to the camp in the forest.

* * *

You arrived at a large wall made from recently felled trees. Carved into huge spiked logs. The gate was even larger, two wooden watchtowers either side guarded by longbowmen. In front of the gate were two soldiers, large and armour-clad sporting spears and short swords on their hips.

“State your business civilian.” You didn’t like his tone, but you were in no position to make trouble right now. You put on your puppy eyes and made sure to sniffle here and there. 

“I’ve returned home from my travels to find that my brother has been conscripted here, I was hoping I could see him? Please we’re the only family we’ve got.”

You could see the one on the left - who had brown eyes and an impressive red beard - looked sympathetic. He sighed, “I’m sorry madam but civilians are not permitted in the compound.”

_Fuck. Fuck think of something quick._

“Please sir, I only wish to give him this-” you pulled a shard of the diamond, “It’s been in our family for generations, my great-great-grandfather helped an old woman, turned out to be a powerful mage, she gave him this for protection and good luck. I only wish to pass it on to him, for the battlefield.” You managed to pull a few tears out. 

“I’m sorry madam, I really am, but we are under strict instructions.” 

_Bollocks. New plan._

“....Okay...” you began to cry loudly, making sure even people behind the gate could hear you as you walked away tragically. You kept crying till you turned a corner in the road hidden behind a hill, and you began to climb. 

_I’ll be damned if I can’t get him out of there. Well if the Captain doesn't wanna see me, he won’t._

You camped atop the hill, hidden behind a large set of stones, overlooking the compound all day, watching the comings and goings, the rotation of the guards, the new recruits running laps, performing exercise drills and practicing combat, but none of them looked like Mattias. 

_I wonder what Geralt would see with those eyes._   
_No, no, no, you don’t need to be thinking of him right now (Y/N)._

Hours passed, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got the layout of the compound memorised - the barracks, the armoury, the canteen, and some nicer tented quarters for the officers, when the guards change when the trainees are sent to fetch water.

Not long after midday, a man stepped out of a large tent at the highest point, at the back of the camp. Despite being so far away, you knew it was him, The Captain. He had dark ashy blonde hair which stopped at his ears and was pushed back neatly away from his face, he was tall and broad, even more so because of the perfectly polished silver armour, etched in the centre the Temerian Lilies. He walked with his head held high, each step taken had weight and purpose behind it. You continued to watch as he made his rounds, inspecting every inch of the camp: the soldiers, the canteen, the barracks, even the armoury where a poor soul was pulled out in front of everyone, yelled at by the Captain, and made to run the circumference of the compound till he was instructed not to.

You turned your attention to the gates and walls, there had to be a way in somewhere. There were two gates, the open you approached guarded by two towers, and another one near the canteen, smaller and guarded by a single tower where deliveries are made. No doubt the food taken from Jacob. _I could try to climb over that gate, it's not as tall, but how to distract the guards out front and the longbowman in the watchtower?_

You were awoken out of your deep examination, by a baritone voice you knew all too well.

“So your ‘chat’ with the Captain went well?” Geralt asked mockingly.

 _He’s here. He didn’t leave. He’s actually here with me._ You watched him as he silently crouched down beside you, watching the camp, his eyes moving quickly. You were stunned. _Why didn’t he leave?_

“I think Kaer Morhen is in that direction Geralt. If you needed directions you should’ve asked me last night. I'm very busy right now.” you joked back, unable to keep from smiling.

“So you’re here to enjoy the view?” he said, turning to look at you, your breath caught in your throat as he looked at you. He almost looked glad to be there. 

You smirked, “Well they wouldn’t let me in, so I’m looking for another way in.”

“And your brilliant plan?”

“Still working on it,” you admitted.

“Of course,” he replied.

You both sat in silence as you tried to turn attention back to your break-in plan, but you felt as if your whole body was vibrating being so close to him. Whatever these feelings were you needed to get over it and concentrate.

“I mean, if I wanted to get inside -without being seen that is- I’d use climb over that lowest bit of the wall near the back of the barracks.” Geralt suggested

“Well, sometimes the guards sneak back there for a smoke of their pipes or play cards, so even if I timed it to the guards' rotation I could still be spotted.”

Geralt looked regrettably impressed. “Okay, fine.”

“I’m actually thinking behind the Captain’s tent, seeing as that’s where I want to get. Even though the wall is taller, I want to see the nightly guard rotation to assess my options.”

“But it’s the most surrounded place in the camp,”

“I know. Which is why it’ll be even more impressive when I do get inside.”

“(Y/N) You can’t break into a secure military camp by yourself,”

“Well by all means come along and help Geralt.”

“That’s not what I-” he sighed, he knew by now there was no arguing with her, at least if he went with he could make sure she doesn’t get caught.

* * *

  
You and Geralt returned to the hilltop that night, which was a massive help as he could actually see what was happening down there, you could only make out the torches and lamps. You sat again in mostly silence, watching him as he ardently watched the compound. A thought from earlier kept coming to you, _Why'd he come back?_

“So Kaer Morhen is not a good destination this time of year?” you asked.

“No, it’s nice there,” Geralt responded flatly. 

“So it must’ve been my ineffable charm that kept you here then?”

“Well, someone said they really enjoyed my company. Thought I’d express some generosity,” he said.

“Yeah, I did say that.” The silence dragged on, each second of it agonising, all you wanted to know was what he was thinking. “Seriously Geralt.” you implored him.

He finally turned his gaze away from the camp, looking down at the floor, deep in thought. 

“I thought to myself, ‘Geralt, she’s gonna do something really stupid and get herself killed.”

“I am not!”

“You were prepared to barge into that camp last night, drunk.”

“Yeah but.....” you tried to think of something to say to shut him up but nothing. 

You both returned to your silent study of the compound. Once you had the nightly guard rotations down, you hatched your plan.

___

The next night was clear, the moonlighting your way through the forest to the camp. You and Geralt moved silently through the underbrush to the edge of the camp.The plan was simple, since he was faster and quieter than you could ever hope to be, he was to set up a distraction, will you went to the Captain’s tent, hoping to find, something, anything that might tell you how to find Matthias. You approached the back wall, you swung your trusty grappling hook with an expert flick of your wrist, lodging it between two of the logs. You pulled yourself up, perching between the spikes of the logs, your feet and back bracing you. Geralt climbed after you, you pulled him up, pulled your rope back to you, and hopped down into the camp.

The Captain’s tent was about 20ft away, you clung to the darkness, hiding in the tall grass. You nodded to Geralt, and he nodded back and began making his way to the canteen. You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he seemed to disappear into the shadows then reappear seconds later as if he teleported. You sat silently and waited, till you could smell smoke - a burst of flames erupted from the canteen.

Well done Geralt. You watched as soldiers, half awake and half-dressed, rushed to the disaster, trying to put it out. A few rushed to the Captain's tent “Captain! Quick!” A few moments of shouting later, you watched him emerge. He was, even more, imposing up close. His hair was still neat and looked like he was still in half armour. He marched towards the fire, taking charge. As soon as he was out of earshot, you crept up to the tent and slipped underneath.

Inside was larger than your cottage, furnished with fur rugs, chests, double bed and a washbasin. In the centre of the tent was a huge table with papers all strewn out and a map table of the Continent with pieces placed along with it. You instantly darted to the papers - letters, battle plans, but no names, just infantry and numbers. You were starting to panic, you checked the chests, to find it full of scrolls and ledgers. You began reading each of them till you picked up a large leather-bound ledger. Inside were names, conscription date and assignment. 

_This is it!_

You poured through the ledger, till you found his name amongst the countless others

**_Terminos,_**

**_Cedric_**

| 

**_Vizima_**

| 

**1267, 3 after 1st fm**

| 

**2nd Company, 5th Regiment**

| 

**_Deployed_**  
  
---|---|---|---|---  
  
**_(Y/L/N), Matthias_**

| 

**_Burdoff_**

| 

**1267, 4 days since 2nd nm**

| 

**3rd Company, 5th Regiment**

| 

**_Deployed_**  
  
**_Chavri, Robrecht_**

| 

**_Maribor_**

| 

**1267, 6 before 1st nm**

| 

**3rd Company, 5th Regiment**

| 

**_Deployed_**  
  
_Deployed? He’s left already? No,no, no, no, no-_

You ran back to the table full of documents, searching for deployment plans, anything. You combed through each piece of parchment. _3rd Company, 5th Regiment, 3rd Company, 5th Regiment, 3rd Company, 5th Regiment... C’mon, where are you, Matt??_

“Looking for something?” 

You froze. The Captain stood behind you in the entrance of his tent, watching you scramble through his notes. Up close you can see why people are so terrified of him. His ashy blonde hair was pulled away from his sharp and pointed face, his eyes were a cold blue, steely and penetrating, you couldn’t look away from him in fear. He was tall, not the broadest, but he was imposing. His voice was calm and flat as if wasn’t at all surprised to find a woman rifling through his things in the dead of the night.

Guards rushed in behind him, ready to apprehend you. 

“Wait!” he commanded. The stopped, looking perplexed, but his face gave away no indication of what he was feeling. “Take her weapons.” They stripped you of your knives, even the ones in your boots. _They didn't find the shards, thank fuck._

He strode up to you, each step purposeful “Who are you and how did you get in here?” he asked, his tone direct, but not harsh. He seemed so calm and collected, it unsettled you. You didn’t know whether to run, to fight, or what. So you answered him truthfully.

“I am a thief and I am a thief.” His expression remained stone cold.

“And what is it you are here to steal, thief?”

“Information. I’m looking for my brother.”

“Ah, so it was you wailing so convincingly outside the front gate this morning?”

“How do you know-”

“I keep a close eye on all the comings and goings here.” He paused, looking you over with an intense gaze. It felt like plunging into freezing cold water. 

“Please take a seat,” he said beckoning to the other chair as he sat. 

You nervously took a seat as the guards surrounded you, holding their spears firmly. I need a way out here now. _Where the fuck is Geralt? He was supposed to meet me back here!_ As slyly as you could, managed to get one of the shards into your hand under the table.

“How do I know you’re not a spy for the enemy? And this ‘brother’ you’re looking for is just a ruse?” his tone remained flat as if he was asking about the weather, but you knew this was an interrogation. His eyes never left you, each second of your response would be quantified by those cold eyes. You needed to choose your words carefully.

“Because I would’ve killed myself by now if I was.”

“I never said you were a good spy, but you still may be one,” he responded, not taking his gaze off of you.

You paused and thought for a moment.“I have no interest in working as cannon fodder for my own country, let alone another. Also, you can ask anyone in town, I’ve lived here all my life. ”

“Hmm.” he seemed to take that as the truth. “Who is your brother may I ask?” His eyes bore into you.

“Matthias (Y/L/N). 3rd Company, 5th Regiment,” You replied solemnly.

“Ahh yes. I remember him. Hard-working chap wasted on that sorry plot of land.” You bit your tongue. “I’ll make sure he sees some good action.” The Captain’s words were pleasant, but you knew their deeper meaning, the glint of joy in his eyes told all, Matthias is going to be on the front lines.

_No._

The image of the black field swallowing him flashed before, you had to find him before he could be thrown to the wolves.

“Lock her up.”

The guards stepped towards you, their arms were reaching for you, you could see it all in slow-motion. You couldn’t get captured, not now, not when you still had to find him.

You leapt up from the chair, the shard grasped firmly in your fist. You swished your shard against the guard's exposed forearm. He screamed, a loud terrified shrill. You stopped dead in your tracks and saw - the cut in his was not just bleeding as a large gash would, it was as if a blue ember was burning away at his skin, inch by inch, till his whole forearm was charred in a deadly blue tint. 

The guard kept wailing in pain, the other guard and the Captain stiff with horror, watching as this man's arm looked as if it had been dunked in a forge. You took this moment to run - you ducked back under the tent.

“Quick after her!” you heard the Captain call.

Geralt was nowhere to be seen.

 _Fuck._

You needed to get out of sight and fast. You decided behind the barracks - out of direct eye line from the guard towers. You peaked round- no guards gambling late into the night, good. You dipped between the back of the building and the log wall, clinging to the darkness as much as you could. But you needed to find Geralt. It was a one-story long building, so you silently climbed onto the roof and laid flat against it, peaking over the tip, it wasn’t a perfect view of the compound but it was the best you’re gonna get. You looked to the canteen, the fire was dying down, and now more guards had flooded the camp looking for you. The Captain was ordering people about, looking furious. That made you smile a bit. 

You still couldn’t see Geralt and you were starting to get worried, it’s not like him to be lost. 

_What if they already caught him? What if-_   
_No (Y/N). Think. What would Geralt do? He managed to cause a distraction but he couldn’t find a way to the Captain’s tent. Where would he have gone?_

You climbed down and landed -

“Hnng FUCK!” 

You looked down - Geralt. God, you’d never been so glad to see him, he seemed just as startled as you were. You then realised- he had landed on his back and you were sat on him, back to him, legs either side. You felt that knot twist in your stomach and leapt off.

“Gods Geralt! Where the fuck where you?!” you shout-whispered.

“You really should watch where you’re going,” he said grumpily, though he didn’t look injured. “Find what you were looking for?”

“Uhh...Kind of?”

A loud bell started ringing - echoing throughout the camp, you could hear the thunder of footsteps men assembled.

“For fuck’s sake (Y/N) what did you do?!”

“No time to argue now let's go!” You grabbed his hand and ran for your life.

* * *

You managed to climb out over the log wall, arrows whizzing past your head as you dropped down onto the forest floor, before bolting it deeper into the woods. You ran and ran and ran, even when you couldn’t hear the ruckus from the camp anymore. You found a stream and began running through it, doing your best to throw off any trackers. 

“I think we’re safe,” you huffed, out of breath. Geralt hadn’t even broken a sweat. 

“We should keep moving.” He said curtly.

“Geralt, please, a breather? Not all of us are like you.” You bent down in the stream and brought some water to your mouth and down the back of your neck.

“Fine. But be quick,” he said angrily, pacing back and forth.

“What’s wrong with you?” you asked.

“What’s wrong with me?” he turned to you, his nostrils flared, his eyes wide, “What's the matter with you? Aren’t you supposed to be this great thief but you got the alarm triggered!”

“Well, where were you Geralt?! You were supposed to keep an eye out after setting the fire, but the Captain waltzed right in!”

“I was held up by some soldiers.”

“Geralt you didn’t ki-”

“I just knocked them out. I knew this was a terrible idea.” he spat out, turning his back away from you.

Why can’t he even look at me?! You leapt up from your squat, “Well why did you come then?!”

He turned, and grabbed both of your arms, almost shaking you as he shouted: “Because I don’t want you to get hurt!!” His eyes were painted with worry and anger, and almost a tinge of sadness.

You were stunned into silence. “I’m sorry I just- I couldn’t leave till I knew where he was.”

Geralt sighed, and released his grip, “And do you?”

“No,” you said sadly, rubbing your forehead. “I know he's in the 5th regiment. I saw the map table, there were a lot of pieces near the Jaruga.”

“Makes sense.” Geralt said thoughtfully. “Cut them off at the river, difficult to cross as well. And I suppose you have another brilliant plan about getting to Jaruga without being caught by one of the Captain’s men?”

“Why? You coming?” 

“You have no sword skills. Also no bow skills. Also no fighting skills.”

“Your confidence in me is really heartwarming. But dear Geralt, I have this,” you held up the shard of the diamond, blood still dripping down its tip.


End file.
